PROFESSOR 

LATIMER'S 

PROGRESS1 


.. 

- 


The  road  thereupon  proceeded  to  drug  his  soul  into  a 
peace  such  as  it  had  not  known  for  montlis 


PROFESSOR  LATIMER'S 
PROGRESS 


A  Novel  of  Contemporaneous 
Adventure 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
J.  ORMSBEE 


NEW    YORK 

HENRY   HOLT   AND   COMPANY 
1918 


COPYRIGHT.  1917,  1918. 

BY 
THE  ATLANTIC  MONTHLY  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT.  1918 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  April,  1918 


THE    QLIINN    A    RODEN    CO.    PHHJ 

ftAHWAV,    N.     J 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  FAGX 

I  SICK  LEAVE i 

II  THE  GUINEA-PIG 18 

III  THE  FILM  QUEEN        .       .       .       .  33 

IV  SHADOW 45 

V  CALL  OF  THE  WILD      ....  56 

VI  LADIES  ERRANT 71 

VII  ART  OF  LIFE 91 

VIII  THE  PILGRIM 103 

IX  THE  LADY  WHO  HIRED  A  HALL       ,  122 

X  MANNING  INSISTS        ....  129 

XI  INTERLUDE 139 

XII  IDYLL  IN  A  GARAGE      ....  140 

XIII  THE  TINKERS'  CHORUS       .       .       .152 

XIV  IN  THE  CRUCIBLE 169 

XV  THE  CONSCIENTIOUS  OBJECTOR  .       .  181 

XVI  LATIMER  CONVALESCENT     .       .       .  190 

XVII  CRIMINOLOGY 201 

XVIII  LATIMER  PREACHES      .  216 

XIX  NIGHTMARE 231 

XX  THE  INSURGENTS 241 

XXI  LATIMER  MOUNTS  A  SOAP-BOX  .       .  254 

XXII  AN  INTERVIEW 271 

XXIII  IN  ARCADY 277 

XXIV  DOMESTIC 293 

XXV  THE  MOTHER        .       .       .       .       .301 

XXVI  CAUTION 313 

XXVII  THE  BATTLE 314 

XXVIII  MANNING'S  LAST  INNING   .       .       .  329 

XXIX  SAFE  IN  PORT 340 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


The  road  thereupon  proceeded  to  drug  his  soul 
into  a  peace  such  as  it  had  not  known  for 
months  .  . "  .  .  .  .  Frontispiece 


"  Punch,  Professor,  more  punch !  "  shouted  Baby 
She  told  Latimer  of  her  work       .... 
"  May  I  turn  in  until  the  storm  is  over?"  . 
They  crossed  a  wooden  bridge      .... 
Made  Latimer  think  of  seraglios  .... 


FACING 
FACE 

68 

88 

148 

170 

248 


PROFESSOR   LATIMER'S  PROGRESS 

CHAPTER  I 
SICK  LEAVE 

"  You  get  there  at  9.23,"  said  Mrs.  Latimer. 

"  Do  I,  my  dear  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  looked  it  up  when  I  bought  your  ticket,  and 
I  have  written  Harriet  to  have  a  cold  supper  ready 
for  you.  I  don't  trust  the  food  in  the  diner  over- 
much." She  ran  an  expert  eye  over  the  little  heap 
of  luggage  at  his  feet.  "  I  think  you  have  every- 
thing,— bag,  umbrella,  raincoat,  golf-clubs, — and 
here  are  some  magazines  I  have  picked  out ;  the  right 
kind."  She  smiled.  Without  looking  he  knew  they 
were  the  all-fiction  magazines  and  not  disturbing. 
"  And  I  think  I  will  say  good-bye." 

"  There's  still  ten  minutes,"  said  Latimer. 

"  I'd  rather  not  wait,"  she  said;  and  lifted  up  her 
face  to  be  kissed. 

He  had  to  bend  his  lips  to  the  level  of  his  shoul- 
ders. 


2  Profe:$or  Larimer's  Progress 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  beg  your  pardon." 

"For  what?" 

"  I  have  been  hard  to  live  with." 

"  Nonsense,"  she  said.  "  Take  care  of  yourself. 
Go  to  bed  early.  Don't  overeat.  Walk  every  day, 
but  not  in  the  sun.  Don't  read  except  what  I  send 
you.  And  no  excitement.  Good-bye." 

She  took  her  kiss  and  walked  down  the  platform 
without  haste  and  without  bravado.  But  there  was 
about  the  parting  of  this  elderly  pair  an  unmistak- 
able aroma  of  sentiment  which  drew  an  amused 
smile  from  the  pretty  young  woman  in  a  green 
sporting  coat  who  was  saying  her  modern,  indiffer- 
ent, clipped  farewell  to  a  young  man  in  a  paddock 
coat  and  gray  spats. 

All  the  way  down  the  platform  Latimer  watched 
his  wife's  resolute,  tiny  figure.  Then  he  beckoned 
to  a  porter  and  climbed,  breathing  heavily,  up  the 
steps  of  the  car.  His  great,  unathletic  bulk  filled 
the  passageway. 

Latimer  told  the  truth.  He  had  been  hard  to  live 
with  ever  since  the  first  of  August,  1914,  although 
that  was  not  the  reason  of  his  banishment  to  Sister 
Harriet's  place  up-state.  He  was  being  sent  away 
for  his  own  good,  as  far  as  possible  from  the  War, 


Sick  Leave  3 

which  from  the  first  day  had  laid  hold  of  his  soul's 
peace  and  put  it  to  the  rack.  Every  campaign  in  the 
three  continents  and  on  and  under  the  seas  had  been 
fought  simultaneously  somewhere  in  Latimer.  His 
heart  was  seldom  out  of  the  trenches.  The  war  had 
mobilized  him  more  completely  than  if  it  had  placed 
a  rifle  in  his  hands  and  sent  him  to  the  firing  line. 
It  had  not  altered  his  habits;  he  was  as  fond  as 
ever  of  rich  foods,  of  wine  on  occasion,  of  his  after- 
noon nap,  of  friendship,  of  loud  and  colored  talk, 
of  the  buoyant,  intellectual,  epicurean,  big-city  exist- 
ence in  which  his  robust  being  was  at  ease  after 
thirty  years  on  a  college  campus.  But  the  war  had 
shaken  the  foundations  of  his  daily  practice.  It 
would  sweep  upon  him  and  empty  all  life  of  its 
meaning.  The  war  would  descend  upon  him  on 
bright  summer  mornings,  as  he  was  shaving  or 
lacing  his  shoes. 

"  Why  am  I  doing  this  ?  "  he  would  say.  "  Out 
there  men  are  flat  in  the  mud  with  unseeing  eyes  to 
the  sky."  He  woke  nights,  lest  Russia  conclude  a 
separate  peace.  He  hurt  his  digestion  by  thinking 
suddenly  of  Bethmann-Hollweg. 

"  You  are  particularly  fond  of  veal,"  Mrs. 
Latimer  would  complain,  "  and  you  haven't  touched 
it."  Veal,  she  was  saying;  and  if  casualties  on  the 


4  Professor  Latimer' s  Progress 

Aisne  continued  to  mount  up,  how  long  could  poor 
France  stand  it? 

He  lost  his  temper  frequently.  To  be  sure,  after 
you  had  called  a  man  a  scoundrel  at  your  own  table, 
you  could  always  telephone  to  him  at  midnight  in 
an  agony  of  repentance  and  beg  his  pardon.  Still, 
it  was  a  strain  on  friendship  and  it  was  very  bad 
for  the  blood-pressure.  He  could  not  deny  it:  as 
one  dear  old  lady  told  him  to  his  face,  his  views  on 
the  war  did  not  show  good  taste.  That  was  after 
she  had  suggested  a  way  of  combating  the  sub- 
marines and  Latimer  had  shouted  "  Nonsense !  " 

Decidedly,  if  Mrs.  Latimer  had  not  been  living 
with  him  for  thirty-five  years,  she  would  have  found 
it  hard  to  live  with  him  now.  His  going  away  was 
by  doctor's  orders.  He  was  not  sorry  to  go.  ,He 
longed  for  the  peace  of  mind  that  had  been  his  be- 
fore Von  Kluck  outflanked  it.  He  was  fond  of 
Sister  Harriet's  cooking.  He  took  his  golf-clubs 
along  as  a  matter  of  etiquette;  what  he  would  do 
would  be  to  walk — "  I  am  still  good  for  fifteen 
miles  a  day,  my  friend." 

"  Three  miles  a  day  will  do  nicely  the  first  week," 
said  Dr.  Gross.  "  And  only  one  newspaper  a  day, 
the  smaller  the  headlines  the  better.  No  letters;  as 
little  conversation  as  you  can  live  on;  work  in 


Sick  Leave  5 

the  garden;  take  your  good  old  Walter  Scott  along 
and  go  to  sleep  over  him  whenever  you  feel  like  it." 

"  There's  more  life  and  wit  in  a  page  of  Scott," 
shouted  Latimer,  "  than  in  a  trunkful  of  your 
Wellses  and  Bennetts." 

"  All  right,"  said  Dr.  Gross.  "  I  said  anything 
that  will  keep  you  quiet.  If  you  can  go.  to  sleep 
on  Bennett,  I  have  no  objections." 

"  I  have  never  read  him  and  never  will,"  sput- 
tered Latimer. 

"  But  why  shout  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  "  And  re- 
member, if  you  behave  yourself,  you  can  come  back 
in  a  month.  If  not,  it's  for  the  duration  of  the 

war!" 

• 

He  began  by  obeying  orders.  He  dozed  while 
the  train  ran  across  the  desolation  of  the  Hacken- 
sack  meadows  and  climbed  the  foothills  of  com- 
muterland.  He  woke  in  fifteen  minutes  greatly  re- 
freshed. Mrs.  Latimer' s  resolution  must  have  given 
way  when  she  laid  in  her  stock  of  light  literature 
for  his  journey.  Tucked  away  among  the  all- 
fiction  magazines  he  found  a  copy  of  the  Nation. 
Manfully  he  passed  by  the  editorials,  the  foreign 
correspondence,  the  letters  to  the  editor  and  the 
chronicle  of  the  week,  to  give  himself  to  a  lengthy 


6  Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

review  of  a  New  Syllabary  of  Early  Babylonian,  a 
subject  of  which  he  knew  nothing  whatever,  but 
which  he  could  always  follow  with  interest.  It 
was  one  of  those  conscientious  bits  of  work  in  which 
the  reviewer  points  out  that  the  author  has  erred 
in  rendering  an  obscure  text,  "  I,  the  King,  have 
built  six  temples  for  my  glory,"  and  that  the  proper 
translation  would  rather  be,  "  I,  the  King,  have 
bestowed  six  oxen  on  my  daughters  (nieces  ?) ."  He 
read  the  article  through,  and  was  on  the  whole  in- 
clined to  believe  that  oxen  and  daughters  was  the 
sounder  version.  From  Babylonia  he  drifted  on  to 
a  letter  on  the  London  dramatic  season  by  the  wise 
and  gentle  William  Archer.  In  the  middle  of  the 
second  page  a  name  caught  his  eye  and  he  read 
quickly  for  half  a  minute. 

" That  is  a  lie!  "  he  called  out;  so  loudly  that  the 
lady  in  a  black  velvet  hat  with  a  green  veil  in  the 
next  chair  turned  to  look  at  him.  He  did  not  notice 
her.  He  was  staring  for  the  second  time  at  the 
lines  that  had  roused  him  to  such  swift  con- 
demnation. 

"  There  are  some  things  for  which  war  destroys 
one's  palate,"  Mr.  Archer  wrote,  "  and  Mr.  Shaw's 
persiflage  is  one  of  them.  His  whole  habit  of  mind 
is  out  of  place  in  such  a  crisis,  and  I  cannot  but 


Sick  Leave  7 

think  that  an  uneasy  consciousness  of  this  fact  leads 
him  to  exaggerate  his  foibles  and  to  assume  an 
aloofness,  not  to  say  a  callousness,  which  he  does 
not  really  feel.  He  gives  one  the  impression  of 
caring  for  nothing  so  long  as  he  can  crack  his  joke. 
I  am  sure  that  in  this  he  does  his  real  nature 
injustice." 

"  That  is  a  lie,"  said  Latimer,  and  threw  the 
paper  from  him.  There  was  hot  wrath  in  his  eyes 
and  his  face  was  a  dull  red  in  its  framework  of 
close-clipped  whiskers.  "  Injustice  to  Bernard 
Shaw's  real  nature !  This  is  his  real  nature !  " 

The  lady  in  the  black  velvet  hat  made  up  her 
mind  about  him  and  returned  to  her  magazine. 

He  had  read  much  of  the  real  nature  of  the 
author  of  Man  and  Superman.  He  had  heard 
anecdotes  of  the  man's  kindliness,  of  the  secret 
charities  that  lay  behind  the  mask  of  japing 
irreverence.  He  had  wished  them  to  be  true, 
but  this  war  had  made  it  impossible.  Yes,  there 
are  people  who  do  not  wear  their  hearts  upon 
their  sleeves.  Yes,  there  are  shy  people  who 
will  scold  to  conceal  the  shame  of  tenderness.  But 
there  must  be  a  limit.  "  I  refuse  to  believe,"  said 
Latimer  to  himself,  "  that  there  is  a  real  nature 
which  can  be  permanently  concealed.  Smith  robs 


8  Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

his  employer  and  shoots  his  wife  in  a  drunken  rage. 
Very  well,  perhaps  I  do  not  know  his  real  nature. 
But  when  Smith  reveals  a  talent  for  burning  down 
orphan  asylums,  when  he  takes  pleasure  in  admin- 
istering poison  to  canary  birds,  when  he  likes  to 
jostle  cripples  from  the  sidewalk  into  the  traffic," — 
Latimer  cudgeled  his  brains  for  specimens  of 
Smith's  iniquity, — •"  please,  please,  don't  ask  me  to 
fix  my  mind  on  the  man's  real  nature.  Or  at  least 
tell  me  when  that  real  nature  will  exhibit  itself.  If 
the  calvary  of  a  world,  if  the  blood  of  millions,  if 
the  dead  of  the  Lusitania  and  the  babies  slain  by 
the  Zeppelin,  if  the  spectacle  of  a  world  in  dissolu- 
tion and  rebirth  is  not  enough  to  bring  out  the  real 
nature  in  Bernard  Shaw,  then  tell  me  what  will. 
Nothing!  Nothing!" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  lady  in  the  green 
veil.  "  Were  you  addressing  me?  " 

Latimer  turned  utterly  red. 

"  I  beg  yours,  madam ;  I  was  only  talking  to 
myself,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  lady,  and  went  back  to  her 
magazine. 

"  I  am  violating  orders,"  thought  Latimer.  "  I 
must  be  calm."  And  he  went  to  look  for  calm  in 
the  smoking  compartment.  It  was  dinner-time  and 


Sick  Leave  9 

he  had  the  place  to  himself.  He  lit  a  cigarette  and 
watched  the  shadows  falling  on  the  hillside. 

"  The  trouble  with  me,"  thought  Latimer,  "  is 
that  I  have  no  measuring-stick  for  life.  I  have 
no  formula.  I  am  just  a  sentimental  old  fool.  I 
go  about  saying,  '  What  does  this  mean,  what  does 
that  mean,  what  does  this  whole  idiotic,  booming 
confusion  of  a  world  mean?'  Because  I  have  no 
standards  and  no  formulas  to  explain  away  things 
as  they  happen,  they  shatter  me  and  keep  me  awake 
nights.  Why  should  I  always  be  agonizing  over 
Russia  and  over  General  Nivelle  and  the  subma- 
rines and  American  democracy  after  the  war?  The 
trouble  is,  I  am  a  clumsy  amateur  of  life." 

He  thought  of  the  others,  the  professionals  he 
called  them,  the  men  of  his  own  station  in  the 
clubs,  the  colleges,  on  the  newspapers — thinkers, 
writers,  politicians,  reformers,  stand-patters,  social- 
ists, aesthetes,  revolutionists,  and  Satanists, — the 
men  who  had  worked  out  their  formula, — they 
called  it  creed, — who  had  perfected  themselves  in 
the  use  of  their  professional  yardstick,  who  could 
measure  everything  and  understand  everything. 

"  Lucky  dogs,"  thought  Latimer,  "  nothing  can 
shake  'em,  nothing  can  puzzle  'em,  not  even  a  world 
war.  It  fits  into  their  formula,  and  if  the  war  has 


io  Professor  Larimer's  Progress 
to  be  clipped  a  bit  before  it  fits,  or  the  formula  has 
to  be  stretched  a  bit,  what's  the  odds?  But  most 
of  the  time  the  facts  are  made  to  fit  the  formula. 
For  every  Socialist  whom  the  war  has  converted  to 
a  new  explanation,  there  are  five  who  have  con- 
verted the  war  to  the  Socialist  explanation.  The 
Pacifist  who  wrote  books  before  the  war  to  prove 
that  war  had  become  economically,  socially,  and 
psychologically  impossible — will  he  admit  now  that 
he  was  in  error?  Not  at  all;  the  war  only  proves 
his  contention,  though  how,  I  have  not  for  the  life 
of  me  been  able  to  determine,"  thought  Latimer. 
"  The  man  who  argued  that  only  a  great  standing 
army  could  have  kept  the  United  States  out  of  war 
— does  Europe  of  August  i,  1914,  armed  to  the 
chin,  worry  him?  Not  at  all.  A  little  twist  to  the 
facts  here  and  a  little  turn  to  logic  there,  and  the 
formula  is  as  good  as  ever.  Oh,  the  comfort  of  a 
good,  double-jointed,  collapsible,  extension  formula ! 
Oh,  the  saving  on  a  man's  heart  and  nerves ! " 

Only  one  cigarette  at  a  time,  Dr.  Gross  had  said ; 
but  the  question  was,  when  did  the  new  regime 
begin.  Could  the  train  journey  be  properly  regarded 
as  part  of  one's  vacation?  Obviously  not.  Old 
Gross  must  have  referred  to  the  moment  one  stepped 
out  of  the  train  at  Williamsport.  But  this  much  he 


Sick  Leave  n 

would  do  without  loss  of  time — he  simply  would  not 
give  another  moment's  thought  to  the  war.  And, 
by  heavens,  he  would  not  have  another  cigarette! 

He  picked  up  a  picture  magazine.  It  was  seda- 
tive. Film  stars;  Ty  Cobb  in  action;  multimillion- 
airesses  hoeing  potatoes;  drawing-room  in  the  new 
200- foot  motor-yacht  Aloha;  Billy  Sunday  in  ac- 
tion, and  underneath  the  picture,  in  large  type  in 
a  box,  "  Billy  Sunday's  Own  Formula :  How  I 
Keep  Myself  Fit." 

He  did  not  study  the  formula.  He  lit  a  cigarette 
and  thought  of  Billy  Sunday  and  the  vast  roaring 
assemblies  that  went  on  in  New  York  in  the  early 
months  after  we  had  entered  the  war.  Surely  the 
war  should  have  made  its  mark  on  Billy  Sunday 
and  his  gospel,  if  on  any  one.  Here  was  a  man 
whose  concern  was  entirely  with  the  soul;  and  what 
had  not  happened  to  the  souls  of  men  since  the 
summer  of  1914?  The  war  could  not  help  but 
drive  some  men,  through  despair  of  humanity,  to 
take  refuge  in  God.  It  should  have  driven  others, 
through  despair  of  finding  a  meaning  in  things,  into 
a  denial  of  God.  Some  change  there  must  have 
come,  and  that  change  should  have  been  registered 
in  Billy  Sunday,  given  the  man's  preoccupation  with 
God  and  Satan. 


12          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

Latimer  smiled  to  recall  the  evangelist  on  the 
platform,  as  he  had  seen  him  only  a  few  weeks  ago. 
The  tricks  of  the  game  were  exactly  what  they  had 
been  during  the  last  half-dozen  years.  The  pain- 
fully spontaneous,  piping-hot  sermons  were  the 
same,  except  for  an  occasional  interlude  of  flag- 
waving — the  timely  "  gag  "  with  which  the  vaude- 
ville performer  seasons  his  carefully  rehearsed 
"  act"  The  show  was  the  same.  For  Billy  Sun- 
day the  war  had  not  been.  Precisely  like  the 
chorus-girl  processions  with  drums  and  flags  in  the 
Broadway  midnight  theatres. 

No;  whatever  might  be  the  effect  of  the  war 
upon  our  world  of  twenty-five  years  from  now,  for 
the  present  the  old  formulas  held.  It  was  Busi- 
ness as  Usual,  Salvation  as  Usual,  Militarism  as 
Usual,  Pacifism  as  Usual,  Socialism,  Suffragism, 
./Estheticism,  Advertising,  Athleticism  as  Usual.  Mr. 
Bernard  Shaw  as  Usual,  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells  as  Usual ; 
even  the  pictured  advertisements  of  ready-made 
clothes  in  the  back  of  the  magazine,  Distinctively 
Different,  as  usual. 

The  clouds  were  scurrying  in  from  the  west,  and 
rain-drops  spattered  on  the  sill  of  the  open  win- 
dow. He  took  in  with  parted  lips,  gratefully,  the 
little  puffs  of  cold  wind.  The  train  was  laboring 


Sick  Leave  13 

upwards  in  sweeping  loops;  the  hills  were  closing 
in  from  either  side — shadow,  mountain,  cool,  and 
wet.  Everywhere  was  the  glint  and  murmur  and 
freshness  of  water.  It  was  the  region  from  which 
the  great  city  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  away 
gathered  in  its  drink  and  its  cleanliness.  The  coun- 
try was  a-brim — ponds,  streams,  dams,  bridges, 
rain,  shallow  reaches  among  the  boulder  beds, 
springs,  rain,  wells,  wells — 

Yes,  even  though  Mr.  Wells,  as  a  result  of  the 
war,  did  discover  the  Kingdom  of  God.  What 
then  ?  Wells  the  materialist,  Wells  the  sexualist,  the 
irreconcilable  critic  of  stale  and  shopworn  faiths, 
— was  not  the  case  of  Wells  the  case  of  Ignatius 
Loyola,  of  Francis  of  Assisi,  of  Saul  of  Tarsus? 
Also,  no,  Latimer  felt.  In  this  reaction  of  Mr. 
Wells  to  the  war  and  to  God,  he  saw  only  a  busy 
professional  spirit  at  work.  It  was  the  man's  busi- 
ness to  respond  to  the  great  question  of  the  mo- 
ment, to  make  of  himself  a  sensitized  plate,  as  the 
hack  phrase  went.  Precisely  as  the  modern,  acutely 
alive  Wells  had  responded  to  the  new  technical  edu- 
cation, to  the  new  democracy,  to  the  new  woman, 
to  the  new  morality,  so  now,  "  Hello,  here  is  some- 
thing very  tremendous  going  on :  it  is  a  world  war, 
it  is  the  biggest  thing  yet,  and  I,  Wells,  gifted 


14          Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

cosmic  reporter,  who  have  recorded  and  analyzed 
all  kinds  of  social  phenomena,  am  going  to  tackle 
this  huge  proposition ! "  And  the  result  was  the 
Kingdom  of  God.  Latimer  did  not  mean  to  ques- 
tion the  sincerity  of  the  Wellsian  report;  but  some- 
how it  was  not  quite  Paul,  Francis,  Ignatius.  It 
was  not  the  case  of  a  great  event  seizing  on  Mr. 
Wells  and  wringing  his  entrails. 

"No,  I  take  it  all  back,"  said  Latimer.  "I 
apologize.  What  an  eager,  searching  spirit  it  is, 
this  man  Wells !  Suppose  he  does  turn  out  answers 
to  the  world-riddle  which  next  week  go  into  the 
junk  heap?  They  are  working  hypotheses.  Some 
day  he  will  find  the  right  answer.  While  I — " 

"  The  trouble  with  me  is  that  at  the  age  of  sixty- 
two  I  am  still  drifting,"  said  Latimer.  "  Too  sen- 
timental, too  sincere;  an  ancient  arteriosclerotic 
baby."  For  the  space  of  five  minutes  he  was  very 
unhappy.  Then  a  warm  current  of  satisfaction  in- 
vaded him.  He  was  immensely  pleased  with  him- 
self for  being  sentimental  and  vibrating  and  utterly 
open-minded  in  a  world  full  of  shrewd,  practical 
people. 

And  that  in  turn  reminded  him  how  hungry  he 
was.  He  did  not  share  his  wife's  distrust  of  rail- 
way food,  and  since  it  was  inevitable  that  he  should 


Sick  Leave  15 

be  violating  her  long  list  of  instructions,  there  was 
no  harm  in  beginning  now.  Only  he  must  not  do 
it  all  at  once.  He  picked  out  a  table  all  to  himself, 
so  that  no  one  would  speak  to  him  about  the  war. 

A  chill  rain  was  falling  when  he  left  the  train  at 
Williamsport.  He  had  thought  that  Harriet  might 
be  at  the  station,  and  had  worked  himself  up  into 
a  fine  emotional  glow.  She  was  not  there.  The 
disappointment,  the  rain,  the  dim  lights  and  the 
moldy  smell  of  the  archaic  railway  shed,  made  him 
feel  suddenly  cold  and  tired. 

An  elderly  dignitary  in  best  Sunday  clothes  of 
black,  with  a  black  bow  under  a  turn-down  collar 
over  a  starched  shirt,  climbed  out  of  the  driver's 
seat  of  a  buggy  and  shuffled  across  the  platform. 
It  was  old  Runkle,  who  with  Mrs.  Runkle  com- 
prised his  sister  Harriet's  domestic  establish- 
ment. 

At  the  sight  of  the  man  Latimer  felt  the  recent 
evil  years  fall  from  him.  Here  was  something  of 
the  good  old  solid  world  he  once  had  known.  Old 
Runkle  was  still  wearing  his  heavy  black  worsted 
and  starched  shirt  from  May  to  October.  With 
the  first  fall  of  snow  he  would  put  on  a  corduroy 
vest  and  a  straw  hat  and  so  go  about  his  labors. 


1 6          Professor  Lattmer's  Progress 

Why,  no  one  had  ever  been  able  to  discover.  But 
it  was  good  to  find  it  so. 

"  Hello,  Nicholas !  "  And  Latimer's  hand  shot 
out  and  seized  Runkle's  limp  fingers.  "  How's  my 
sister?" 

"  Hrumph,"  said  Runkle  and  turned  away.  He 
piled  the  luggage  under  the  driver's  seat  and 
climbed  in. 

"And  Selma?"  asked  Latimer  as  he  buttoned 
the  flaps  of  the  wagon  against  the  rain. 

Now  Selma  was  Mrs.  Runkle. 

"  Hrumph,"  said  Runkle,  and  clicked  to  the 
horse. 

Latimer  laughed.  He  should  have  remembered 
that  Runkle's  attitude  to  newcomers  in  Williams- 
port  was  one  of  consistent  suspicion.  Runkle  spoke 
to  no  one  the  first  twenty-four  hours  after  a  meet- 
ing. Not  even  to  Harriet  when  she  came  back 
from  a  visit  to  town,  bringing  with  her  presumably 
some  of  its  taint.  Strangers  had  to  undergo  a 
quarantine  of  three  days  before  Runkle  answered 
questions.  It  was  good  to  find  things  as  they  had 
been,  thought  Latimer.  He  fell  into  a  doze. 

Harriet  was  not  at  home.  The  Red  Cross  local, 
Selma  told  him,  was  being  reorganized  at  a  special 
meeting  in  the  Methodist  church  and  she  would 


Sick  Leave  17 

probably  be  late.  Latimer  was  not  to  sit  up  for 
her.  His  supper  was  waiting  for  him  and  his  room 
was  ready.  Selma  showed  an  inclination  for  light 
conversation.  But  he  had  eaten,  and  he  was  tired 
and  a  trifle  homesick. 

"  You  are  looking  younger  than  ever,  Selma,"  he 
said;  "  I  think  I  will  go  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  GUINEA-PIG 

THE  sun  was  on  the  grass  and  in  his  eyes  when 
he  came  out  on  the  porch  next  morning — the  first 
one  to  stir  in  the  house.  He  opened  his  mouth  to 
the  quickening  breeze  from  the  hills.  He  made  no 
haste  to  -enew  acquaintance  with  his  surroundings. 
Rather,  like  an  elderly  epicure,  he  let  the  savor  of 
the  familiar  scene  swim  in  upon  him.  Lazily,  but 
with  a  friendly  smile,  he  identified  it  bit  by  bit — 
the  trees  in  their  places,  the  outbuildings  quite 
where  they  ought  to  be,  and  all  the  minute  geog- 
raphy of  the  garden.  He  went  down  to  the  lawn 
to  let  his  eye  run  over  the  old  house;  and  finding 
it  quite  itself  from  cellar-window  to  chimney, 
nodded  his  greeting  to  it. 

He  let  himself  out  of  the  gate  and  strolled  down 
Main  Street.  The  village  was  asleep.  The  ancient 
chairs  on  the  porch  of  the  General  Store  were  wait- 
ing for  their  daily  load  of  sages  and  loafers.  Be- 
hind the  closed  doors  of  the  post-office  lay  the 
promise  of  a  day's  emotion  for  an  entire  com- 

18 


The  Guinea-Pig  19 

munity.  To  Latimer  there  came  across  the  years 
a  whiff  of  the  cool  and  awe  which  summer  morn- 
ings used  to  bring  to  a  lonely  little  boy  in  a  small 
town.  He  would  get  up  with  the  sun,  slip  on  his 
clothes,  and  wander  through  such  a  street  of  drowsy 
shop-windows  and  barred  doors,  a  street  of  dreams 
and  poetry.  Then,  of  course,  he  had  no  words  to 
clothe  the  peace  and  wonder  that  encompassed  him. 
And  now  that  he  had  the  words,  he  would  often 
try  to  bring  back  the  miracle  of  those  fresh  morn- 
ings ;  but  it  would  not  come  except  at  unbidden  mo- 
ments and  as  a  dissolving  mist  that  vanished  when 
he  snatched  at  it. 

He  turned  off  from  Main  Street  and  into  an 
unpaved  road  where  the  houses,  close  set  at  first, 
thinned  out  into  open  fields.  He  peered  over  fences 
into  small  garden-beds  whose  primitive  colors  were 
still  wet  with  the  dew.  He  stopped  to  listen  to 
sleepy,  metallic  noises  from  back  kitchens,  where 
the  altar  fires  of  the  common  life  were  being 
lighted  for  the  day.  He  smiled  over  the  scattered 
childhood  casualties  of  yesterday — a  rag  doll  aban- 
doned in  the  swinging  chair  in  the  garden  because 
of  an  enforced  retreat  to  bed;  a  pair  of  horse-reins 
with  bells  on  the  porch-steps;  a  bonnet  with  rib- 
bons dangling  from  the  door-handle. 


2O          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

A  furious  scandal-mongering  was  under  way  in 
the  tree-tops,  where  the  business  of  the  day  had 
been  going  on  for  some  hours. 

And  then,  above  the  chatter  of  the  birds  at  their 
front  doors,  Latimer  heard  a  squeal  of  pain.  It 
came  from  close  to  the  ground,  apparently  a  few 
steps  away,  under  a  barbed-wire  fence  which  en- 
closed a  vacant  lot.  The  sound  was  repeated,  and 
Latimer,  stooping  close  to  the  ground,  discerned 
commotion  in  the  grass  under  the  fence.  He  ran 
to  the  spot,  plumped  down  on  his  knees,  and  part- 
ing the  grass  with  his  hands,  nearly  let  his  fingers 
fall  on  a  little,  twitching  mass  of  reddish-brown 
hair  under  the  bottom  strand  of  the  wire.  Brown 
eyes  looked  up  at  him  in  pain  and  fear. 

"  Poor  little  devil !  "  said  Latimer.  "  Out  to  see 
the  world,  and  seeing  it  with  a  vengeance." 

The  guinea-pig,  trying  to  slip  under  the  wire,  had 
caught  its  pelt  in  the  prongs  and  succumbed  to 
panic.  It  insisted  on  twitching  forward,  and  so 
drove  the  barbs  in  deep,  and  as  it  struggled  it 
squealed.  Latimer  laid  a  firm  hand  on  the  palpitat- 
ing little  body,  and  with  the  other  snapped  the  wire 
upward.  The  little  beast  gave  one  loud  cry  of  pain 
and  relief,  and  with  a  squirm  was  out  of  Latimer's 
grasp  and  scurrying  back  to  a  hutch  in  the  neigh- 


The  Guinea-Pig  21 

boring  garden,   which  it  never  should  have  left. 

Latimer  remained  on  his  knees,  and  watched  the 
adventurer  out  of  sight.  He  saw  blood  on  the 
finger  of  his  left  hand  and  the  wire  was  brown  with 
rust.  For  a  minute  or  two  he  sucked  his  finger  be- 
fore twisting  his  handkerchief  around  it,  his  mind 
nevertheless  engrossed  with  the  departed  stranger. 
And  while  he  was  still  cording  the  handkerchief 
around  his  finger,  with  his  knees  in  the  grass,  he 
found  himself  thinking  aloud. 

"  O  guinea-pig  under  the  barbed-wire,"  said 
Latimer,  "  dumb  brother  now  licking  your  lacerated 
fur,  deeply  humiliated,  in  the  sympathetic  family 
circle,  take  no  shame  for  your  misadventure.  If 
you  must  whine,  whine;  but  those  are  honorable 
scars,  won  against  the  hereditary  enemy.  More 
splendid  reputations  than  yours  have  been  ripped 
and  torn  by  barbed-wire — Von  Moltke  and  Vis- 
count French  of  Ypres,  Ian  Hamilton  and  Von 
Kluck  and  Nicholas  Nicholaievitch.  Some  have 
been  more  fortunate  than  others,  but  none  has 
escaped  from  the  barbed-wire  with  a  whole  skin. 
Lick  your  fur  without  undue  shame,  dumb  brother 
of  the  back-garden.  Joffre,  Friedrich  Wilhelm, 
Kuropatkin,  and  Sir  Douglas  Haig  are  licking 
theirs. 


22          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Only  you  are  greater  than  any  of  these.  Who 
are  you,  you  ask?  I  will  tell  you,  silent  brother  of 
the  back-garden  and  the  research  laboratory.  You 
are  the  ultrascientific  guardian  of  life,  and  the 
barbed-wire  is  our  perfected  formula  of  death,  and 
the  encounter  between  you  two  is  the  tragedy  of 
man  in  this  our  twentieth  century." 

(Latimer  observed  a  stirring  in  the  grass  at  the 
other  end  of  the  vacant  lot.  A  blunt  nose  was 
thrust  out  from  under  cover  and  a  pair  of  brown 
eyes  peered  across  the  zone  of  safety.  The  guinea- 
pig  was  fast  recovering  from  its  wounds  and  suc- 
cumbing to  curiosity.) 

"  Not  in  vain,  inarticulate  brother,"  went  on 
Latimer,  "  has  nature  bestowed  on  you  and  your 
mate  a  bounteous  fertility.  You  and  yours  are  the 
cannon-fodder  for  the  General  Staffs  of  bacteri- 
ology. Your  regiments  are  perpetually  mobilized 
for  the  defense  of  our  race.  Into  your  veins  we 
inject  all  the  ills  and  poisons  of  our  higher  civiliza- 
tion— anthrax  and  diphtheria,  cancer,  smallpox  and 
tuberculosis,  leprosy,  meningitis,  pneumonia,  typhus 
and  typhoid,  and  all  the  infections  of  the  eye  and 
ear,  of  nose  and  throat,  of  bone  and  muscle  and 
cartilage  and  nerve  and  gland,  which  humanity  has 
accumulated  in  its  march  upward.  All  these  bitter 


The  Guinea-Pig  23 

questions  we  put  to  you  with  the  hypodermic  needle 
and  the  scalpel,  and  you  give  answer.  You  react 
positively  or  you  react  negatively,  but  always  to 
the  full  measure  of  your  ability,  and  most  often  at 
the  cost  of  your  life.  So  it  is  your  tiny  paw  which 
falls  cool  on  the  fevered  heads  of  little  children, 
and  mothers  counting  the  red  lines  on  the  clinical 
thermometer  give  thanks  to  you,  O  guinea-pig, 
who,  strictly  speaking,  art  neither  pig  nor  from 
Guinea,  but  only  six  inches  of  wild  rabbit,  the 
friend  of  man,  the  martyr  and  scapegoat  of  hu- 
manity, and  the  close  associate  of  little  boys  and 
girls. 

"  Yes,  you  do  your  best,  silent  brother.  And 
when  with  your  aid  we  have  saved  a  million  little 
children  from  diphtheria  and  meningitis,  and  they 
have  grown  into  strapping,  clear-eyed  young  men, 
the  barbed-wire  takes  them." 

(The  guinea-pig  had  launched  himself  into  a  sud- 
den dash  across  the  field,  with  the  mad  intention  of 
trying  a  second  bout  with  the  wire,  but  came  to  a 
stand-still  at  the  sight  of  Latimer,  a  few  yards 
away. ) 

"  Take  no  shame  in  your  wounds,  little  snub- 
nosed  Field-Marshal,"  continued  Latimer.  "  He  is 
no  mean  opponent,  this  barbed-wire.  He  is  a  snake 


24          Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

in  the  grass  and  a  mighty  rampart.  By  driving 
stakes  into  the  ground  and  stringing  thin  threads 
of  steel,  we  have  created  ten  thousand  miles  of 
fortress  and  made  a  jest  of  Jericho  and  Troy  and 
Camelot,  of  Vicksburg,  Plevna,  Metz,  and  Verdun. 
It  is  well  for  Caesar  and  Napoleon  that  they  are 
dead  before  the  age  of  barbed-wire.  Their  fame 
would  now  be  hanging  in  shreds  on  its  teeth.  It 
is  the  mightiest  instrument  of  death  we  have  in- 
vented, the  most  portable,  and  the  most  economical, 
showing  the  heaviest  returns  for  every  dollar  in- 
vested." 

(With  the  same  unreasoning  impetus  that  had 
brought  him  forward,  the  guinea-pig  whirled  about 
and  dashed  off  to  his  house  across  the  field.) 

"  You  do  right  to  be  wary  of  your  enemy,  silent 
brother,"  said  Latimer.  "  Do  not  give  in  to  him, 
but  do  not  despise  him.  There  are  difficult  times 
before  you.  For  after  this  barbed-wire  age  there 
may  come  the  age  of  barbed-wireless.  A  machinist 
may  press  a  button  and  a  hundred  thousand  men 
will  be  impaled  on  a  network  of  flesh-eating  vibra- 
tions. To-day  it  is  a  tie  between  you  two.  But 
you  must  look  to  the  future,  to  the  casualties  of  the 
barbed-wireless  age,  and  the  greater  supply  of  life 
for  the  growing  demand.  Give  heed  to  prepared- 


The  Guinea-Pig  25 

ness.  Multiply  your  kind  for  the  test-tube  and  the 
microscope,  O  crown  of  brute  creation,  mightier 
than  Behemoth,  more  conquering  than  the  lion  of 
Judah,  guinea-pig,  brother,  fulcrum  of  our  scientific 
universe ! " 

(Latimer  paused,  held  his  nose  to  the  wind,  and 
quickly  got  to  his  feet.  From  the  kitchen  giving 
on  the  back-yard  to  which  the  guinea-pig  had 
retired  came  the  delightful  fragrance  of  frying 
bacon. ) 

"  I  feel  much  better  already,"  said  Latimer  as  he 
made  his  way  back  through  Main  Street,  which  was 
just  starting  into  life.  "  How  lovely  the  old  place 
is !  I  must  come  back  more  often." 

And  if  some  reader  should  object  that  the  pre- 
ceding discourse,  because  of  its  measured  cadences, 
should  properly  have  been  set  down  as  free  verse 
instead  of  prose,  I  would  point  out  that  the  guinea- 
pig,  listening  without  the  text  before  him,  would 
not  have  known  the  difference. 

Harriet,  the  night  before,  had  triumphantly  re- 
organized the  Williamsport  Red  Cross  by  having 
herself  elected  president  and  treasurer,  and  she  was 
now  hurrying  to  catch  the  8.59  for  Bloomington, 
to  make  extensive  purchases  of  cotton  and  gauze. 


26          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

Hence  she  considered  it  a  very  happy  suggestion  of 
her  brother's  that  he  load  a  knapsack  and  start  out 
for  a  few  days  in  the  hills. 

Latimer  teased  his  strong-minded,  capable,  crisp- 
tongued  sister. 

"  But  you  are  under  instruction  from  Lucy  " — 
Lucy  was  Mrs.  Latimer — "  to  take  particular  care 
of  me." 

"I  am,"  said  Harriet;  and  ran  for  her  train. 

At  the  gate  Latimer  was  accosted  by  Nicholas 
Runkle,  whose  suspicions  of  him  had  softened  suffi- 
ciently overnight  to  permit  conversation. 

"  When  d'ye  think  now  this  war  of  theirs  will 
be  over,  Professor  Latimer  ?  "  said  Nicholas. 

"  You  know  as  much  about  it  as  I  do,  Nicholas. 
A  year  perhaps." 

Nicholas  looked  around  to  see  if  he  was  over- 
heard. 

"  I  don't  believe  there's  goin'  to  be  any  righting," 
he  said.  "  I  don't  believe  we  are  goin'  into  the 
war." 

"  But  we  are  in  it.  Half  a  million  men  are  drill- 
ing." 

"  So  they  say,"  said  Nicholas,  with  an  ironic 
upward  twist  of  the  lips. 

(Ah,  thought  Latimer,  the  old  fellow  is  suspi- 


The  Guinea-Pig  27 

cious  of  the  war.     He  is  determined  not  to  be  im- 
posed upon.) 

"  One  thing  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Latimer; 
"  America  won't  stop  till  every  German  helmet  has 
been  cleared  out  of  Belgium." 

"  How  do  I  know  the  Germans  are  in  Belgium  ? 
I  have  to  take  their  word  for  it,"  said  Nicholas. 

Latimer  grew  angry,  slammed  the  gate  behind 
him,  laughed  out  loud,  and  returned. 

"  Nicholas, — "  he  said. 

Nicholas  Runkle  believed  that  Doctor  Cook  dis- 
covered the  North  Pole  and  that  Admiral  Peary 
was  an  impostor.  He  believed  that  Congress  was 
forced  to  declare  war  by  the  secret  machinations  of 
the  Catholic  Church.  He  believed  that  Kitchener  did 
not  perish  off  the  Orkney  Islands,  but  is  alive  today, 
a  prisoner  in  the  Tower  for  having  sold  military 
secrets  to  Germany  for  the  sum  of  $100,000,000 
and  the  promise  of  the  British  crown  under  German 
suzerainty.  But  he  had  his  doubts  as  to  whether 
President  Wilson  really  wrote  his  messages  on  a~ 
typewriter,  and  he  was  convinced  that  the  city  of 
New  York  had  nothing  like  the  population  credited 
to  it  in  the  Census  reports.  In  no  case  would 
Nicholas  take  "  their  "  word  for  it,  "  they  "  being 
various  gigantic  conspiracies  for  disseminating  false 


28          Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

information — the  Catholic  Church,  which  Nicholas 
thought  of  as  meeting  at  midnight  in  subterranean 
places  for  the  framing  of  mischief;  the  newspapers, 
which  received  their  orders  every  morning  in  a 
sealed  envelope  from  the  office  of  J.  P.  Morgan  and 
Company;  the  colleges;  and  the  book-publishers, 
who  were  the  worst  conspiracy  of  all. 

As  against  the  books  published  by  such  publishers 
associated  for  the  deception  of  the  people,  Nicholas 
had  in  his  attic  room  a  very  impressive  library  that 
really  told  the  truth.  They  were  books  in  paper 
covers,  put  out  at  the  author's  expense,  in  a  job 
printing  office  that  evidently  dispensed  with  proof- 
readers. The  authors  had  plainly  frustrated  the 
evil  conspiracy  of  the  public  schools  for  the  dis- 
semination of  the  elementary  rules  of  grammar. 
They  usually  began  with  the  Seven  Circles  of 
Existence  and  the  Universal  Law  of  Vegetarianism 
as  developed  by  the  sages  of  India;  and  from  these 
premises  went  on  to  prove  that  Cook  had  discovered 
the  North  Pole,  that  Mr.  Roosevelt  had  Japanese 
blood  in  his  veins,  that  the  Catholic  Church  was 
responsible  for  the  failure  of  the  wheat  crop,  and 
so  forth. 

"  Nicholas,"  said  Latimer,  "  do  you  believe  the 
earth  is  which — round  or  flat?  " 


The  Guinea-Pig  29 

Nicholas  twisted  his  lips  to  a  point  and  would 
not  answer.  Flat,  of  course.  And  if  people  be- 
lieved otherwise  it  was  because  the  school-book- 
publishers  had  to  make  a  living. 

Harriet  had  pointed  out  that  for  the  purposes 
of  mountaineering  Latimer's  wardrobe  was  over- 
stocked in  starched  collars  and  red  cravats,  and  de- 
ficient in  rough  foot-gear.  She  directed  him  to  the 
General  Store. 

"  Dekker's  Emporium,"  Latimer  read  on  the  sign. 
"  Except  for  the  word  Emporium,  which  shows  the 
urban  influence,  there  is  about  the  primitive  aspect 
of  this  store  sufficient  evidence  that  the  old  spirit 
is  maintaining  itself.  Dekker  is  an  ancient  name 
in  this  region.  It  harks  back  to  the  Palatinate  and 
the  year  1700,  when  the  sturdy  German  farmers 
first  made  their  way  into  the  valley  of  the  Dela- 
ware. That  there  should  still  be  a  Dekker  keeping 
store  argues  the  persistence  of  the  past." 

From  behind  a  wall  of  packing-cases  piled  up  to 
the  ceiling  at  the  back  of  the  store,  an  elderly,  quick- 
eyed  person  with  a  closely  cropped  red  beard  came 

forth  at  the  sound  of  the  door-bell.    His  alert  man- 

t 

ner  in  the  presence  of  a  customer  was  not  of  the 
rural  shopkeeper  type.    Latimer  tried  to  identify  in 


30          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

his  features  the  traits  of  the  eighteenth-century 
Palatines,  and  was  puzzled.  He  believed  he  had 
stumbled  right  at  the  start  upon  a  remarkable  exam- 
ple of  eccentric  racial  development. 

"Mr.  Dekker?"  said  Latimer. 

"  This  used  to  be  Dekker's,  yes,  sir,"  said  the 
proprietor.  "  My  name  is  Rosenbaum." 

"  You  are  new  here?  " 

"  Three  years  this  June,"  said  Rosenbaum. 

"  I  should  like  a  pair  of  shoes." 

"  Certainly.  Our  new  line  is  just  in.  Something 
about—?" 

"  The  price  hardly  matters,"  said  Latimer.  "  I 
want  a  pair  of  comfortable  shoes." 

Before  Latimer  had  composed  himself  to  his 
ethnological  discovery,  Rosenbaum  was  holding  up 
a  shoe  by  the  latchet  for  his  approval.  It  was  in 
patent  leather,  and  Latimer  thought  it  extremely 
attractive;  but  he  recalled  what  Harriet  had  said 
about  comfort  as  the  first  requisite. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  Show  me  something  that  will 
stand  hard  wear." 

Rosenbaum  flashed  behind  the  counter  and  re- 
turned. 

"  Our  best-seller,"  he  said.  "  The  cloth  top  comes 
in  three  shades,  but  this  is  the  most  popular." 


The  Guinea-Pig  31 

"  You  don't  quite  follow  me,"  said  Latimer.  "  I 
want  a  plain,  all-leather  shoe,  broad  toe,  heavy 
soles;  the  kind  all  your  people  here  buy." 

Rosenbaum  looked  up  in  dismay. 

"  This  is  what  they  all  buy.  I  haven't  had  a  call 
for  any  other  kind  for  a  month." 

"  Let  me  understand  you,"  said  Latimer.  "  You 
assert  that  the  demand  for  shoes  in  this  community 
is  confined  to  patent  leathers  and  cloth  tops  ?  " 

"  Well,  now  and  then,  some  of  the  old  fellows 
from  up  the  mountain  will  ask  for  the  other  kind." 

"  That  is  the  kind  I  want,"  said  Latimer.  "  See 
if  you  can  find  a  pair." 

And  something  of  the  kind  was  found  among 
the  discards  in  the  storage  room  behind  the  packing- 
cases. 

"Anything  in  the  line  of  socks?"  said  Rosen- 
baum. 

"  By  all  means." 

"Silk?  Half-silk?  Lisle?  I  can  show  a  first- 
class  assortment." 

"  No,"  said  Latimer,  "  cotton.  Double-soled  if 
that  is  possible,  or  wool  if  they  are  not  too  heavy." 

Rosenbaum  made  a  second  trip  to  the  back  room 
and  after  a  search  brought  back  two  pairs  of  heavy, 
blue  cotton  socks.  Latimer  proceeded  to  change  his 


32          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

foot-gear.  The  act  of  stooping  put  him  into  a  per- 
spiration and  he  bethought  himself  of  flannel  shirts. 

"We  have  them  in  madras,  pongee,  silk,"  said 
Rosenbaum.  "  Soft  cuffs  or  laundered." 

Latimer  lost  patience. 

"  A  couple  of  gray  flannel  shirts  of  the  kind  that 
the  people  around  here  wear  about  their  ordinary 
occupations." 

"But  they  don't,"  said  Rosenbaum.  "They 
never  wear  rough  flannels.  The  summer  visitors 
do.  Only  this  is  early  in  the  year." 

Latimer  made  shift  with  a  plain  gray  sweater, 
which  Rosenbaum  hunted  up  in  the  limbo  behind 
the  partition,  after  his  customer  had  rejected  a 
white  sweater,  in  half  silk,  with  scarlet  facings 
round  the  collar.  Rosenbaum  would  charge  only 
a  nominal  price  for  his  derelict  stock,  and  this  led 
to  a  friendly  argument  which  passed  by  natural 
gradations  into  a  discussion  of  Biblical  literature, 
into  which  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  enter.  It  seemed 
that  Rosenbaum  believed  that  the  Old  Testament 
was  written  by  Moses,  punctuation  marks  and  all; 
whereat  Latimer  sighed,  shook  hands,  and  set  forth 
on  his  journey.  It  was  now  well  on  toward  nine 
o'clock,  and  the  village  was  alive. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  FILM  QUEEN 

HE  was  free,  alone,  and  on  the  open  road. 
Looking  forward  at  breakfast  to  the  first  morning 
of  his  holiday  in  the  open,  he  had  thought  of  any 
number  of  problems  to  which  he  might  now  devote 
unlimited  periods  of  consecutive  speculation.  Only, 
as  he  walked,  he  found  that  nature  is  not  conducive 
to  sustained  thought.  The  stage-setting  is  too  big, 
the  lights  are  too  strong,  there  are  all  sorts  of  dis- 
tracting sounds  and  odors  and  colors.  After  sev- 
eral brave  attempts  to  force  his  mind  into  action 
upon  a  set  topic,  he  surrendered  and  let  the  road 
do  with  him  as  it  pleased.  The  road  thereupon 
proceeded  to  drug  his  soul  into  a  peace  such  as  it 
had  not  known  for  months. 

He  had  set  out  at  a  good  pace,  unwisely.  Within 
an  hour  he  grew  painfully  aware  of  his  legs.  The 
road  rose  steadily  in  a  succession  of  long,  teasing 
loops,  to  the  crest  of  the  divide  he  had  set  out  to 
cross.  Some  distance  from  the  top  he  pulled  up — 
not  from  fatigue,  oh,  no;  but  for  the  view,  as  we 

33 


34          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

all  do.  The  hills  were  lifting  up  in  front  of  him 
and  on  either  side,  and  the  next  turn  in  the  road 
would  throw  a  green  barrier  behind  him.  The  hills 
were  playing  riot  across  country,  chasing,  outflank- 
ing, tumbling  into  each  other.  Or  in  the  back- 
ground a  green  promontory  would  thrust  forward 
into  the  sunlight,  like  an  enormous  dog  at  rest  with 
his  head  on  his  paws.  The  woods  ran  up  to  the 
very  ridge  like  the  heavy  nap  of  a  carpet.  Latimer 
felt  very  little  and  tired.  He  had  breakfasted  too 
heartily  for  a  first  day's  journey.  It  was  careless 
in  Harriet. 

He  sighed,  and  went  on,  sparing  himself.  He 
reached  the  summit  with  a  fair  reserve  of  breath, 
but  the  steep  descent  to  Elk  Creek  was  a  sore  trial 
for  his  ankles.  In  his  preliminary  studies  on  the 
map  he  had  fixed  upon  Westville  as  the  first  halting- 
place;  that  was  four  miles  away.  The  road  crossed 
Elk  Creek  on  an  ugly  red  iron  bridge  and  swung 
south,  parallel  with  the  stream.  He  trudged  along 
with  much  less  vim  on  the  level  highway  than  he 
had  put  into  climbing  the  hills.  As  an  abstract 
proposition,  he  fell  to  wondejang  how  long  a  mile 
would  be  in  these  parts. 

He  was  tiring  rapidly.  The  early  morning  breeze 
had  died  away,  and  the  sun  beat  down  on  him. 


The  Film  Queen  35 

After  all,  why  be  a  slave  to  schedules?  Just  off 
from  the  road  a  great  willow  stood  deep  in  the 
grass.  He  would  lie  down  for  a  few  minutes  and 
read.  Before  doing  that,  it  would  be  good  to  cut 
across  the  field  and  bathe  one's  face  and  hands  in 
the  creek ;  but  even  that  short  detour  was  too  much 
of  a  task.  He  unlimbered  his  knapsack,  lowered 
himself  painfully  to  the  ground,  pulled  out  Quentin 
Durward  from  the  bag,  and,  turning  to  the  four- 
teenth chapter,  fell  asleep. 

He  had  scarcely  closed  his  eyes  when  he  was 
awake  again.  The  earth  was  rocking  under  him  in 
the  most  disturbing  fashion.  On  further  consid- 
eration, it  was  not  the  earth  at  all,  but  himself.  A 
young  woman  in  an  automobile  duster  was  bending 
over  him  and  shaking  him  vigorously  by  the  shoul- 
der. He  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"  Are  you  ill  ?  "  said  the  girl. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Latimer,  half  asleep;  "can  I 
do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

"  You've  been  carrying  on  like  anything — moan- 
ing and  tossing  about." 

"  But  that  can  scarcely  be,"  said  Latimer.  "  I 
have  just  lain  down  to  rest  after  a  fatiguing  journey 
and  was  preparing  to  take  a  short  nap." 

"  You   have   another   guess   coming,"    said   the 


36         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

young  woman.  "  You  were  fast  asleep  when  we 
came  by  in  the  machine  an  hour  ago,  and  you  were 
still  going  strong  when  I  spied  you  on  our  way  back. 
My  arm's  tired." 

In  fact  Latimer  saw  the  sun  high  over  his  head. 
His  bones  ached.  His  palate  was  dry. 

"  Do  you  want  anything?  "  said  the  girl. 

"  I  should  greatly  appreciate  a  drink  of  cold 
water."  He  started  to  rise. 

"  Don't  stir,"  she  said.  "  Archibald,  bring  a  cup 
of  water." 

She  turned  to  two  men  who  stood  close  by,  look- 
ing down  upon  Latimer  with  only  the  faintest 
curiosity.  The  elder  of  the  two  was  a  heavy-jowled 
figure  in  a  dust-coat  which  was  sufficiently  open  at 
the  throat  to  show  a  fat  diamond  in  a  crimson  scarf 
beneath  the  blue  of  a  desperately  shaven  chin. 
Archibald  was  a  very  tall  and  sad-eyed  young  man, 
with  a  two  days'  beard  and  only  on  the  most  indif- 
ferent terms  of  friendship  with  his  clothes.  He 
had  no  motor-coat  and  his  derby  was  tilted  back  at 
an  angle  so  as  to  bring  a  tall  forehead  into  the  gen- 
eral scheme  with  a  prominent  Adam's  apple.  He 
strolled  meditatively  to  the  car,  searched  for  the 
drinking-cup  without  haste,  and  in  due  course 
made  his  thoughtful  way  to  the  edge  of  the 


The  Film  Queen  37 

creek  and  back  again  to  the  little  group  under  the 
tree. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Latimer;  and  Archibald 
nodded.  Even  without  the  sleepy  friendliness  in 
his  eyes  Latimer  was  prepared  to  like  him  much 
better  than  the  heavy  man  with  the  blue-black  jaw. 

The  latter  pulled  out  his  watch  and  growled. 

"  It's  late,  Gladys.    Let's  move  on." 

Gladys  did  not  bother  to  answer. 

"  Quite  sure  you're  right?"  she  said  to  Latimer. 

"  Beyond  question,"  he  said. 

But  the  effort  with  which  he  got  to  his  feet  did 
not  please  her. 

"  Which  way  are  you  going?  " 

"  I  am  bound  for  Westville,  where  I  purpose  to 
take  lunch,"  said  Latimer. 

"  We're  going  the  other  way,"  said  the  man  in 
the  duster.  Archibald  had  picked  up  Quentin  Dur- 
wwd,  and  was  reading  with  evident  interest. 

"  But  we  could  take  him  back,  Baby,"  said 
Gladys.  "  It's  only  a  minute  in  the  machine,  and  I 
don't  like  the  idea  of  letting  him  start  off  by  him- 
self." 

"  I  assure  you,  madam,  there  is  no  occasion  for 
anxiety,"  said  Latimer.  "  The  fact  is  I  very  rarely 
dream." 


38          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  The  old  man's  all  right,"  said  Baby.  "  Come 
on." 

"  Go  ahead,  if  you  like,"  said  Gladys,  eliminating 
him  from  her  consciousness. 

"  I  will,"  said  Baby;  and,  stalking  off  to  the  car, 
he  plunked  down  into  the  driver's  seat  with  super- 
fluous energy. 

"  Madam,"  said  Latimer,  "  I  really  stand  in  no 
need  of  assistance,  and  I  should  greatly  regret  to 
make  myself  a  source  of  contention  between  hus- 
band and  wife.  Permit  me  to  thank  you  for  your 
kindness  and  to  go  my  way." 

Gladys  laughed  aloud,  not  unpleasantly,  Latimer 
thought.  Archibald  looked  up  from  the  pages  of 
Quentin  Durward,  and  a  grin  spread  over  that 
Hamlet  countenance  which  Latimer  was  getting  to 
like  more  and  more. 

"  No  offense,"  said  Gladys. 

"  I  suspect  none,"  said  Latimer. 

"  Only  I  hate  to  let  you  go  off  by  yourself,"  she 
said. 

Archibald  closed  the  book  and  handed  it  back  to 
Latimer  with  a  nod  of  thanks. 

"  Suppose  I  walk  back  with  the  gentleman  ?  "  he 
said.  "  It's  all  the  same  to  me  if  I  wait  in  West- 
ville  or  at  the  hotel." 


The  Film  Queen  39 

"  Good  for  you,  Archibald,"  she  said ;  and  to 
Latimer,  "  You  don't  mind  having  him  trot  along? 
Archie  is  a  nice  child,  and  it  would  make  me  feel 
better." 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  more." 
"  Fine !  "  said  Gladys.    "  See  you  again." 
She  tripped  away  to  the  car,  where  Baby  was 
manipulating  enough  levers  to  start  half  a  dozen 
automobiles,  and  took  her  place  beside  him.    As  the 
car   shot  away   she  turned   and   blew   a  kiss  to 
Latimer. 

Latimer  silently  acknowledged  the  thoughtful- 
ness  of  his  long-legged  companion  in  accommodat- 
ing himself  to  his  own  cautious  pace. 

"  A  woman  of  good  heart,"  said  Latimer. 
"  Something  in  her,  no  doubt,  of  that  modern 
touch  which  is  apt  to  merge  into  frivolity,  but  es- 
sentially a  womanly  woman." 

"  Recognize  her  ?  "  said  the  sad-eyed  one. 

"  How?  From  her  picture,  you  mean?  In  the 
public  press  ?  " 

"  Everywhere,"  said  Archibald.  "  Miss  Gladys 
Winthrop,  Intercontinental  Film  Corporation." 

"  The  lady  is  an  actress  for  the — " 

"  Yes.     She  is  the  Intercontinental  star.     They 


40          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

know  her  all  over  the  world.  In  the  Fiji  Islands 
people  pass  up  a  cannibal  feast  when  they  put  on 
a  Winthrop  film." 

"  Miss  Winthrop,"  said  Latimer.  "  So  the  gen- 
tleman with  the  red  cravat  is  not  her  husband?  " 

"  Baby  is  chief  stage-director  for  the  Intercon- 
tinental. We  are  screening  Mexican  war-scenes  a 
couple  of  miles  down  the  river,  and  Miss  Winthrop 
comes  down  every  day  from  her  hotel  at  Sum- 
nerville." 

"  And  you—" 

"  I  am  deputy  assistant  scenario  editor." 

"  It  is  an  art  with  which  I  regret  to  say  I  have 
only  the  most  superficial  acquaintance,"  said  Lati- 
mer. "  The  strain  on  the  eyes  is  trying." 

"  It  is  a  rotten  business,"  said  the  other,  with  a 
savage  intensity  Latimer  did  not  think  him  capa- 
ble of. 

"  And  yet,  my  dear  Mr.  Archibald — " 

"  My  name,"  said  the  other,  "  is  Perkins;  William 
Henry  Perkins.  Archibald  is  Miss  Winthrop's  pet 
name  for  me." 

"Like  Baby?" 

"  Exactly.  If  you  don't  mind  my  saying  it,  I 
suspect  she  is  now  referring  to  you  as  Grandpa." 

"  I  am  sure  I  bear  her  no  ill-will,"  said  Latimer. 


The  Film  Queen  41 

"  But  your  opinion  of  your  own  profession  puz- 
zles me." 

"  It  is  not  my  profession,"  said  Perkins.  "  I 
write  plays,  real  plays." 

"  You  have  had  them  produced  ?  " 

"  One.  It's  been  tried  out  on  the  road  and  we 
are  now  licking  it  into  shape  for  New  York.  In 
the  meanwhile  I  do  scripts  for  a  living." 

"  You  are  to  be  congratulated,"  said  Latimer. 
"  I  have  myself  on  occasion  experienced  a  strong 
impulse  toward  the  theatre.  I  went  so  far  as  to 
purchase  a  textbook  on  the  technique  of  the  drama. 
And  to  think  that  you  have  actually  had  a  play 
produced ! " 

"  I've  been  writing  them  ever  since  I  can  remem- 
ber," said  Perkins.  "  This  one  was  finished  five 
years  ago.  It  was  a  melodrama;  five  acts  and  four- 
teen characters;  pretty  large  order,  I  admit." 

"  Many  of  Shakespeare's  plays  exhibit  more  than 
that  number  of  personages,"  said  Latimer. 

"  That  so?  "  said  Perkins.  "  It's  some  time  since 
I  have  looked  into  Shakespeare.  The  manuscript 
was  kicked  about  in  the  usual  way  till  McClintock 
got  hold  of  it.  That  was  about  a  year  ago  in  Chi- 
cago. McClintock  was  crazy  about  it.  '  It's  the 
big  idea,'  he  said.  '  It's  a  wallop.'  Only  he  balked 


42          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

at  the  list  of  characters.  A  cast  of  fourteen  means 
a  pretty  healthy  salary  list.  So  we  cut  out  three 
of  them,  a  boodle  politician,  a  woman  social 
worker,  and  a  comic  policeman.  McClintock  hated 
to  lose  some  of  the  lines,  and  we  gave  them  to  the 
leading  man,  who  is  the  candidate  of  the  Reform 
League  for  district-attorney.  We  then  went  into 
rehearsal." 

"  I  envy  you  the  experience  of  seeing  for  the 
first  time  the  creatures  of  your  imagination  in  the 
flesh,"  said  Latimer. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Perkins.  "  Only  McClintock's 
leading  woman  got  an  offer  from  the  movies.  The 
only  available  substitute  was  a  much  younger 
woman.  This  made  it  necessary  to  eliminate  the 
heroine's  children.  It  meant  quite  a  bit  of  re- 
writing, but  you  must  be  prepared  for  that.  Then 
we  went  on  the  road.  McClintock  believes  in  build- 
ing up  his  shows  before  real  audiences." 

"  I  am  of  the  same  opinion,"  said  Latimer. 
"  The  audience  is  joint-author  in  every  successful 
play." 

"  That  is  what  the  textbook  says."  Perkins 
spoke  without  the  intention  of  satire,  but  Latimer 
blushed.  "  The  first  night  we  put  it  on  somewhere 
in  Indiana.  The  third  act  is  tensely  dramatic,  with 


The  Film  Queen  43 

a  good  bit  of  pathos.  Only  the  crowd  laughed.  I 
was  in  the  back  of  the  balcony  when  that  laugh 
came  and  you  can  imagine  how  I  felt." 

Latimer  stopped  short  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  I 
am  sorry,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  author.  "  Mc- 
Clintock  thought  differently.  He  confessed  that  at 
first  he  felt  it  was  all  up  with  us;  but  as  the 
crowd  went  on  laughing  he  brightened,  and  when 
the  show  was  over  he  ran  up  and  slapped  me  on 
the  back.  '  We've  got  them,  Perkins,'  he  said ; 
'  it  don't  make  any  difference  whether  they  laugh 
or  cry  so  long  as  they  do  it  strong.  Get  busy  and 
tickle  them  some  more,  old  man.'  I  set  to  work." 

"  But  the  logical  structure  of  the  piece  was 
bound  to  suffer." 

"  It  isn't  so  hard  once  you  put  your  mind  on  it," 
said  Perkins.  "  We  took  that  court-room  scene 
where  the  audience  got  away  from  us,  and  light- 
ened it  up  considerably.  Strange  to  say,  in  the  next 
town  they  didn't  laugh  very  much.  McClintock 
thought  it  over  and  said  a  court-room  with  judges 
and  lawyers  and  turnkeys  was  too  somber.  So  we 
changed  it  to  a  private  dining-room  in  a  Broadway 
restaurant.  That  forced  us  to  cut  out  the  first 
act." 


44          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

Latimer  was  confused  but  correspondingly  sym- 
pathetic. 

"  At  any  rate  the  play  has  now  assumed  final 
shape  ?  " 

"  Practically,"  said  Perkins.  "  It  comes  to  Broad- 
way in  September;  a  whimsical  farce  in  three  acts 
and  nine  characters." 

"  The  labor  must  have  been  great,"  mused 
Latimer. 

"  Labor  is  no  word  for  it.  Lots  of  times  I  was 
ready  to  quit.  But  McClintock  wouldn't  hear  of  it. 
McClintock  was  splendid.  '  Perkins,'  he'd  say, 
*  I'll  stake  my  head  on  that  play.  There's  a  big 
idea  in  it.  All  we  have  to  do  is  make  'em  see  it.' 
And  McClintock  usually  knows  what  he  is  talking 
about." 


CHAPTER  IV, 
SHADOW 

"  WE  should  be  close  to  Westville,"  said  Latimer. 

They  stopped  to  inquire  of  a  big  man  in  rusty 
city  garb  with  a  fishing-rod,  who,  from  a  rock  in 
the  stream,  was  casting  with  a  short  line  into  the 
pools  under  the  opposite  bank.  He  threw  his  line 
with  a  lazy  swing  as  if  utterly  indifferent  to  the 
destination  of  the  fly;  almost  as  if  he  were  of  half 
a  mind  to  withdraw  the  bait  while  it  was  still  in 
the  air.  When  the  fly  lit  and  brought  no  response 
he  withdrew  the  line  and  cast  again,  without  inter- 
est and  without  disappointment.  Latimer  thought 
of  a  drowsy  man  going  through  his  morning  exer- 
cises in  his  bedroom. 

"What  luck?"  asked  Latimer. 

"  They  never  bite  much  around  here,"  said  the 
fisherman. 

He  had  turned  toward  Latimer  with  the  same 
graceful  calm  he  gave  to  his  fishing.  If  the  stranger 
stopped,  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  give  up  fishing 
and  talk.  If  the  stranger  went  on,  he  would  be 

45 


46          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

just  as  glad  to  go  back  to  his  rod.  He  had  a  soft 
drawl  that  was  more  of  the  South  than  of  the  New 
York  hills. 

"  Westville  is  far  off?"  said  Latimer. 

"  I  shouldn't  call  it  very  far,"  said  the  fisherman. 
He  pondered  on  the  exact  distance  and  his  judicial 
manner  aroused  Latimer's  fears. 

"  A  couple  of  miles?  " 

"  No,  not  that  far,"  said  the  other.  "  When  you 
make  the  turn  yonder  by  that  barn  you  are  'most 
there." 

"  Why,  then,  it  is  only  a  matter  of  a  few  min- 
utes," said  Latimer. 

"  Well,  about  that,"  ruminated  the  fisherman. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  obliged,"  said  Latimer,  and 
started  off  briskly. 

They  were  around  the  curve  of  the  road  in  less 
than  ten  minutes  and  found  themselves  on  the  edge 
of  the  village.  They  stopped  at  the  first  house.  It 
stood  back  from  the  road,  on  a  wide  stretch  of  lawn 
checkered  with  sunlight  through  the  maple  trees. 
A  garden  on  one  side  ran  down  to  the  brook,  which 
here  came  within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  road.  There 
was  about  the  house  an  air  of  confirmed  invalidity. 
The  open  veranda,  which  ran  all  the  length  of  the 
broad  front,  sagged  in  places,  and  the  trellis-work 


Shadow  47 

underneath  showed  gaps.  A  shutter  on  the  upper 
floor  hung  slightly  out  of  line.  The  paint  had 
peeled  in  places  and  everywhere  was  toned  to  a  yel- 
low gray  that  was  not  altogether  displeasing. 
About  the  lawn  and  garden  there  was  the  same  sug- 
gestion of  decay  which  had  not  progressed  so  far 
but  that  to  the  summer  boarder  it  would  all  be  quite 
romantic. 

"  I  never  eat  in  the  middle  of  the  day,"  said  Per- 
kins. "If  you  don't  mind  lending  me  your  Scott, 
I  will  wait  for  you  outside." 

Neither,  it  appeared,  did  he  take  coffee  or  resort 
to  tobacco,  and  Latimer  decided  that  a  one-sided 
feast  would,  indeed,  be  rather  disconcerting.  He 
climbed  the  porch-steps  and  knocked. 

Back  in  the  house,  in  the  region  of  the  kitchen 
he  surmised,  some  one  was  coughing  violently.  He 
knocked  again  and  the  sound  of  coughing  came 
nearer.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  tall,  broad-boned 
woman  in  a  checked  apron,  the  corner  of  which 
she  held  to  her  mouth.  From  her  flushed  cheeks 
Latimer  inferred  that  she  had  just  come  from  the 
kitchen  fire.  In  her  eyes  he  thought  he  discerned 
a  resemblance  to  the  misty  gaze  of  the  fisherman 
by  the  creek,  the  same  languid  grace  which  might 
be  the  sign  of  a  temperament  or  a  low  vitality. 


48         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

She  was  breathing  rapidly,  and  he  conjectured  that 
it  was  the  after  effect  of  the  prolonged  coughing- 
spell. 

Latimer  doffed  his  hat. 

"  If  it  is  not  inconvenient,  madam,  I  should  ap- 
preciate a  simple  luncheon.  Eggs  and  a  glass  of 
milk  would  be  quite  enough." 

"  Come  in,"  she  said.  Her  voice  reminded  him 
again  of  the  soft  drone  of  the  man  with  the  fishing- 
pole. 

She  opened  a  door  on  her  right  and  showed  him 
into  a  large  dining-room  with  half  a  dozen  tables. 
The  place  spoke  of  summer  boarders  and  had  been 
little  used  since  the  going  of  the  last  guest  seven 
months  ago.  She  made  to  throw  open  the  win- 
dows, but  it  was  an  effort,  and  Latimer  came  to 
her  aid.  The  inrush  of  sweet  air  was  a  delight. 
He  sank  into  a  chair  and  sighed  happily. 

"  Will  you  have  tea  and  muffins  with  your 
eggs?"  she  asked. 

"  Pray,  don't  put  yourself  out  for  me,"  said 
Latimer. 

"  I  am  making  some  for  dinner,"  she  said,  and 
withdrew. 

In  the  kitchen  he  heard  that  long,  harassing 
cough.  It  troubled  him,  but  in  his  pleasant  state  of 


Shadow  49 

lassitude,  he  hesitated  to  embark  on  disturbing  con- 
jectures. Then  a  rustle  at  the  door  made  him  turn 
in  his  chair.  A  little  girl  was  peering  at  him  from 
the  hallway.  As  Latimer's  eye  fell  upon  her  she 
whisked  away,  but  he  had  seen  a  brown  head  with 
ringlets  and  blue  eyes  alight  with  curiosity.  Her 
furtive  coming  and  going  were  in  consonance  with 
the  dreamy  silence  that  hung  over  the  house. 

"  I  should  not  have  consented  to  the  muffins," 
thought  Latimer.  "  Whether  they  are  ready  or  not, 
it  means  additional  work  over  the  kitchen  fire;  if 
not  now,  then  later."  He  rose  to  countermand  his 
order  and  stopped.  "  The  house  within  is  spotless. 
The  child  is  fresh  from  soap  and  water  and  the 
comb.  The  life  of  this  home  is  functioning 
normally.  Why  be  officious?  She  might  re- 
sent it." 

He  sat  down.  He  was  very  fond  of  corn- 
muffins. 

He  ate  with  relish.  The  hostess  moved  about  the 
business  of  the  table  efficiently  but  with  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  strong  will  driving  a  reluctant  body. 
She  was  plainly  not  so  hearty  as  her  robust  frame 
would  lead  one  to  suppose,  and  her  face  was  hollow 
beneath  the  cheek-bones. 

"  I    trust   you    are   doing   something    for   that 


5<D          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

troublesome  cough,"  said  Latimer.  "  How  long 
have  you  had  it?" 

"  It's  been  hanging  on  over  the  winter,"  she 
said.  "  The  doctor  has  given  me  something  for  it." 

"  And  is  it  doing  you  good?  " 

She  hesitated.  "Yes,  I  think  I  am  better." 
But  in  her  eyes  Latimer  saw  a  fear  which  made  him 
turn  away  and  look  out  of  the  window.  In  a  swing 
chair  on  the  lawn  the  little  girl  was  standing  on  tip- 
toe, spying  on  the  stranger.  He  snapped  his  fingers 
at  her  and  held  up  a  stick  of  chocolate  which  he 
drew  from  his  pocket.  The  child  scurried  round 
the  corner  of  the  kitchen  but  did  not  make  her 
expected  appearance. 

When  he  had  done  eating,  Latimer  went  in  search 
of  the  little  one.  He  found  her  in  the  shelter  of 
her  mother's  apron  in  what  had  once  been  a  barn, 
but  was  now  empty  of  cattle  or  wagon-gear  and 
given  up  to  miscellaneous  storage.  The  mother  was 
splitting  fagots  with  a  hatchet  the  handle  of  which 
was  always  coming  loose.  She  declined  Latimer's 
offer  to  fetch  in  the  wood  for  her,  laughing  mean- 
while at  his  ardent  courtship  of  the  little  one,  who 
managed,  all  the  way  back  to  the  house,  to  keep  her 
mother's  skirts  as  a  bulwark  against  the  predatory 
stranger.  Ultimately  she  succumbed  to  the  lure  of 


Shadow  £i 

the  chocolate.  Prolonged  and  shy  negotiations  led 
to  a  modus  vivendi,  with  Latimer  established  on 
the  kitchen  steps  leading  down  to  the  garden  and 
the  child  close  to  him  with  a  hovering  eye  on 
mother. 

"  Pretty  soon,"  said  Latimer,  "  this  will  be  a  big 
girl  and  helping  mother  about  the  house." 

The  child  shook  her  head  with  quick  decision. 

"  I  don't.     I'll  go  squirrel-shooting  with  daddy." 

In  the  great  heat  from  the  stove  the  woman's 
face  was  crimson.  Latimer  wondered  how  it  would 
be  with  her  in  midsummer  when  she  was  cooking 
all  day  for  a  houseful  of  boarders. 

"  Won't  you  come  with  me  to  the  city  ?  "  Lati- 
mer pleaded  with  the  child.  "  We  will  live  in  a 
big  house  and  go  to  the  circus  every  Satur- 
day." 

"  Babe  was  born  in  the  city,"  said  the  woman. 
"  We've  been  here  only  two  years." 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

She  stared  down  at  the  floor. 

"  It  is  better  for  me,"  she  said. 

It  probably  would  be,  Latimer  thought,  if  she 
were  spared  the  rough  man's  work  that  had  fallen 
to  her.  The  head  of  the  house  must  be  exceedingly 
busy  elsewhere  to  make  it  necessary  for  the  woman 


5  2          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

to  split  her  own  kindling-wood  and  be  continually 
running  out  of  the  kitchen  on  errands  that  should 
have  been  anticipated  for  her. 

"  In  the  city  they  don't  grow  cheeks  like  these," 
said  Latimer,  pressing  his  finger  into  the  firm, 
brown  flesh  of  the  little  face  beside  him. 

"  It's  been  best  for  Babe  and  myself,"  said  the 
woman.  "  But  it's  hard  on  my  husband.  He's 
city-bred  and  there's  nothing  in  farming  up  here 
in  the  hills.  It's  mostly  rock  and  scrub  and  he  isn't 
very  strong." 

"  There  should  be  some  one  to  help  you  about 
the  house,"  said  Latimer. 

"  The  girls  here  are  more  a  nuisance  than  a 
help,"  she  said.  "  I  can  get  on  very  well." 

"  The  proof  is  here,"  said  Latimer,  tugging 
gently  at  the  child's  curls. 

She  threatened  him  with  her  clenched  fist. 

"You  do  think  Babe  looks  well?"  said  the 
mother. 

Her  tone  and  the  recurrent  pain  in  her  eyes  told 
him  of  the  dread  that  was  gnawing  at  the  woman's 
heart. 

"  I  haven't  the  least  doubt  of  it,"  he  declared  with 
a  confidence  not  at  all  justified  by  his  knowledge  of 
the  subject.  "  She'll  soon  be  a  big  woman ;  as  big 


Shadow  53 

as  this,"  addressing  himself  to  the  child  and  point- 
ing to  the  roof  of  the  kitchen-shed. 

The  little  one,  passing  easily  from  shyness  to 
intimacy,  made  a  face  at  him.  The  next  moment 
she  was  crying,  "  Daddy !  "  and  whirling  down  the 
path.  It  was  the  man  with  the  fishing-rod.  The 
child  rushed  at  him,  buried  her  face  in  his  trouser- 
leg,  caught  his  arm,  and  came  dancing  back  with 
him,  radiant. 

Latimer  rose.  The  husband  greeted  him  with 
that  now  familiar  smile  of  easy  acceptance  of  things 
as  they  are.  That  the  stranger  of  the  road  should 
be  sitting  there  on  his  own  kitchen  steps  was  no 
more  odd  than  if  he  had  not  been  there. 

"  Dinner  is  'most  ready,  Sam,"  said  his  wife. 
"  I  wish  you'd  fetch  me  a  bucket  of  water." 

He  brought  the  pail  languidly  in  one  hand,  with 
Babe  clinging  to  the  other.  Latimer  settled  his  ac- 
count while  the  husband  turned  decorously  aside. 

"  It  has  been  a  great  kindness,"  said  Latimer, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

She  stared  a  little  while  before  extending  her 
own.  He  offered  to  shake  hands  with  Babe,  who 
immediately  retired  behind  her  father;  but,  with 
her  father,  she  escorted  the  visitor  down  the  path 
to  the  street. 


54          Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

"  You  have  a  charming  place,"  said  Latimer. 
"  One  might  be  happy  here." 

For  the  first  time  the  man's  languor  fell  from 
him.  His  eyes  were  almost  wolfish. 

"  I'd  be  glad  to  sell,  for  half  what  it  cost  me," 
he  said.  "  You  don't  know  of  any  one  who'd 
want  it?" 

"  Unfortunately,  no,"  said  Latimer. 

The  big,  placid  face  was  now  twisted  with  anger 
at  fate  and  himself. 

"  It's  a  hole,  a  cursed,  rocky  hole,"  he  cried. 
"  It's  no  place  for  a  man.  In  the  city  I  had  a  large 
store  and  there  were  people  you  could  live  with." 

He  stopped  short,  nodded  farewell,  and  went 
back  to  the  house  with  his  grievance.  He  had  been 
walking  close  to  Latimer  and  left  behind  him  the 
odor  of  cheap  whiskey. 

From  the  kitchen  came  the  sound  of  coughing. 
Latimer's  lips  tightened  and  he  found  himself  walk- 
ing in  the  wrong  direction,  until  hailed  by  Per- 
kins, whom  he  had  utterly  forgotten.  They  walked 
on  in  silence. 

"  She  has  a  great  many  more  puzzles  to  work  out 
than  I  have,"  thought  Latimer.  "  Only  she  has  the 
answers  close  at  hand.  That  bright-eyed,  cleanly 
child  is  one  answer.  The  husband  who  must  have 


Shadow  55 

his  warm  midday  meal  is  another. — Yes,"  he  said 
aloud,  "  undoubtedly  she  will  get  well." 

"Who  will?"  said  Perkins. 

Latimer  stared  at  him  a  moment  without  under- 
standing. 

,  "  Oh,  the  world  will,"  he  said.     And  Perkins 
would  not  press  him  for  details. 


CHAPTER  V 
CALL  OF  THE  WILD 

HALF  a  mile  beyond  the  village  they  were  over- 
taken by  Miss  Winthrop  and  Baby  in  the  car. 
Gladys  was  on  her  way  to  the  moving-picture  camp 
for  an  afternoon's  work  before  the  camera. 

"  Now  won't  you  let  me  give  you  a  lift  ?  "  she  de- 
manded, registering  childish  imperiousness. 

Latimer  was  tempted,  but  fell  not. 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  he  said.  "  The  impulse  to 
ride  is  always  strong  at  the  beginning  of  a  pedes- 
trian journey.  For  that  very  reason  it  should  be 
resisted." 

"  But  it's  nearly  four  miles,"  she  persisted. 
«  Mr.—" 

"  Professor  Latimer,"  Perkins  told  her. 

"  That  means  only  an  hour  and  a  half  at  the  most 
leisurely  pace,"  said  Latimer.  "  If  you  will  lend 
me  the  company  of  Mr.  Perkins  for  that  additional 
length  of  time,  it  will  be  an  easy  walk." 

"  Just  as  you  say,  professor,"  registering  queenly 
complaisance.  "  Giddap,  Baby." 

56 


Call  of  the  Wild  57 

The  car  shot  away. 

"  How  long  do  you  think  the  war  will  last,  Pro- 
fessor Latimer?"  said  Perkins. 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  men.  Financial  exhaus- 
tion perhaps — " 

"  Well,  now,  I  wonder,"  said  Perkins.  "  Money 
isn't  everything." 

"  No,"  said  Latimer.  "  You  have  in  mind,  I 
suppose,  the  classic  case  of  the  Ottoman  Empire, 
which  has  always  been  bankrupt  and  always  at 
war?" 

Perkins  said  no;  he  was  thinking  of  last  winter 
in  Chicago  when  both  the  children  and  Mrs.  Per- 
kins were  ill  and  there  were  two  trained  nurses  in 
the  house.  When  the  children  took  to  bed,  first  the 
little  one  and  then  the  boy,  Perkins  said,  the  strain 
was  all  the  harder  upon  his  wife  because  they  were 
out  in  the  suburbs  and  without  a  permanent  cook. 
That  is  to  say,  a  satisfactory  servant  can  always  be 
obtained  for  a  price,  but  this  price  Mrs.  Perkins 
was  loath  to  pay,  for  obvious  reasons.  So  they  had 
seven  kitchen-workers  in  eight  weeks,  and  managed 
somehow  before  the  doctor  came  into  the  house. 
Then  it  didn't  matter  how  things  went  on  down- 
stairs. Mrs.  Perkins  gave  herself  entirely  to  the 
children,  until  she  broke  down  completely,  and  for 


58          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

several  weeks  was  ill  enough  to  require  a  double 
shift  of  trained  nurses. 

Thereupon  Perkins  did  the  wise  and  inevitable 
thing.  He  went  to  the  employment  office  and  de- 
manded the  best  cook  obtainable.  She  was  obtained. 
Her  wages  would  have  made  poor  Mrs.  Perkins 
thoroughly  unhappy  if  she  had  known,  but  he  took 
good  care  not  to  let  her  know.  Left  entirely  to  her 
own  devices,  the  new  servant  was  reasonably  con- 
tent, and  Perkins  was  at  last  free  from  the  horror, 
under  which  they  had  lived  for  months,  of  a  sudden 
demand  for  passports  from  the  kitchen.  The  trades- 
men's bills  were  enormous,  but  he  gave  them  no 
thought.  His  mind,  poor  fellow,  was  with  the  very 
sick  woman  upstairs.  The  money  for  everything 
was  forthcoming  somehow — just  how,  he  could  not 
tell  himself. 

"  Now,  war,"  said  Perkins,  "  is  just  like  that. 
The  world  takes  sick  and  goes  to  bed  and  there  is 
plenty  of  money  for  everything." 

But  more  than  that,  said  Perkins.  He  could 
understand,  not  only  how  bankrupt  nations  can 
somehow  find  the  means  for  carrying  on  war,  but 
how  for  the  time  being  they  actually  enjoy  it.  He 
could  understand  crowded  movie  theatres  and  ex- 
pensive automobiles  in  war-time.  Never,  he  said, 


Call  of  the  Wild  59 

had  he  experienced  so  acute  a  sense  of  social  well- 
being  as  during  the  weeks  after  his  anxiety  for  his 
wife  had  been  relieved,  but  when  she  was  still  too 
ill  to  dispense  with  her  nurses.  Perkins  found  him- 
self at  the  head  of  an  establishment.  An  efficient 
cook  was  functioning  downstairs.  Two  handsome 
young  women  in  uniform  were  continuously  about 
the  house;  and  as  the  pressure  in  the  sick-room  re- 
laxed, the  nurses  were  occasionally  at  his  own 
service.  Out  of  pity  for  the  spiritual  strain  he  had 
been  under,  these  tall  young  women  in  uniform 
petted  him.  They  prepared  special  desserts  for  him 
and  went  on  errands  to  the  tobacco-shop.  And 
when  Mrs.  Perkins  was  strong  enough  to  sit  up  in 
bed  and  he  might  have  sent  away  one  of  the  nurses, 
he  waited  until  the  very  last,  his  wife  ultimately 
intervening.  How  pleasant  it  was  to  have  a  gra- 
cious young  woman  in  white  gown  and  cap  alert 
to  the  least  call  with  tray,  pillow,  book,  an  offer 
to  open  the  window,  or  pull  down  the  blind! 

Perkins  said  he  felt  like  the  aristocracy  in  a  fash- 
ionable London  comedy,  where  you  pull  a  bell-rope 
and  tell  Hobson  to  have  the  motor  ready  in  ten 
minutes.  For  the  next  two  years,  Perkins  said,  he 
would  be  paying  bills,  but  while  it  lasted  it  was 
exhilarating.  And  that  was  war  finance. 


60          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

But  Latimer  had  not  been  listening. 

"  Mrs.  Perkins  and  the  children  are  quite  well 
now  ?  "  he  said,  stopping  short. 

"  Never  better,"  said  Perkins. 

"  That's  splendid,"  cried  Latimer  and  held  out 
his  hand.  "  When  you  write  you  must  tell  them  how 
glad  I  am." 

"  I  certainly  will." 

"  And  they  are  coming  down,  of  course,  for  that 
first  night  on  Broadway?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Perkins.  His  sallow  face  went 
pink.  "  You  know,  Dr.  Latimer,  the  reason  we 
could  not  afford  a  good  cook  was — " 
_  "  Because  it  takes  a  lot  of  unremunerative  labor 
to  turn  a  five-act  melodrama  into  a  three-act  farce," 
cried  Latimer. 

They  laughed  like  schoolgirls  and  trudged  on 
in  happy  silence  except  that  shortly  before  they 
reached  the  "  movie  "  camp,  Perkins  laid  a  hasty 
hand  on  Latimer's  shoulder  and  pulled  him  to  one 
side  of  the  road.  A  heavy  automobile  thundered 
by,  its  sole  occupant  at  the  wheel.  Latimer  caught 
the  mere  impression  of  something  big  and  fat  and 
gross  hulking  in  the  driver's  seat. 

"  Someday  my  friend  Busby  and  I  will  have  to 
talk  this  matter  out,"  said  Perkins  with  an  un- 


Call  of  the  Wild  61 

wonted  flash  of  color  in  his  cheeks.  "  Attempted 
murder  is  his  favorite  outdoor  amusement." 

"And  who  is  Busby?" 

"  A  retired  safe-cracker,  I  should  say;  or  maybe 
a  prizefight  impresario.  He  has  a  big  stud  farm 
around  here.  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
him  under  similar  circumstances."  But  here  they 
turned  a  corner  and  forgot  Mr.  Busby. 

In  a  village  of  tents  along  the  river-edge  and  up 
the  slopes  of  the  hill  lay  the  army  that  was  fight- 
ing the  battles  of  Mexico  for  the  Intercontinental 
Film  Corporation.  Smoke  came  from  the  field 
kitchens.  A  long  row  of  stables,  fresh  from  the 
carpenter's  hand,  sheltered  the  two  hundred  horses 
upon  which  the  Intercontinental' s  Mexican  raiders 
carried  havoc  into  American  territory.  Add  a  fleet 
of  motor-trucks;  mountain-heaps  of  provisions,  of 
forage  for  the  remounts,  and  of  fuel  for  the  motor- 
drays,  all  under  canvas;  cabins  of  pine  and  corru- 
gated iron  scattered  over  the  hillside,  which  were 
studios,  developing  rooms,  store-rooms  for  the  raw 
and  completed  film;  add  a  Red  Cross  tent,  with  two 
doctors  and  several  nurses  appropriately  grouped; 
and  then  remember  that  all  this  represented  only 
the  operations  of  the  left  wing  of  the  Mexican 


62          Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

army.  If  you  will  recall  that  the  Mexican  right 
wing  was  at  the  same  time  operating  in  an  open- 
air  studio  in  Pennsylvania,  and  that  Obregon's  main 
forces  were  conducting  a  pitched  battle  with  the 
Villistas  around  Los  Angeles,  you  will  realize  the 
scale  upon  which  the  Intercontinental  Film  chroni- 
cled the  agony  and  revival  of  the  Mexican  nation. 

"  There  may  be  a  chance  to  see  Miss  Winthrop 
in  action,"  said  Perkins. 

He  hastened  toward  one  of  a  group  of  raw 
wooden  barracks  in  the  centre  of  the  camp.  To 
Latimer  the  first  glimpse  of  this  mammoth  factory 
of  make-believe  brought  back  in  a  burst  of  pungent, 
wistful  memory,  the  sensations  of  a  boy's  visit  to 
the  circus  half  a  century  ago.  Perkins,  his  play, 
his  wife,  his  children,  the  woman  coughing  in  the 
kitchen,  were  swept  away  in  a  rush  of  carnival 
spirit. 

From  the  outside  it  was  an  ugly  wooden  barn 
they  were  entering.  Within,  it  was  the  courtyard 
of  a  hacienda,  complete  with  fountain,  orange 
trees,  and  ancient  Indian  squaws  in  costume.  There 
they  found  working  itself  out  an  episode  in  the 
tragic  love  of  Juanita,  daughter  of  the  fiery  Don 
Alvarez,  for  the  handsome  young  American  lieu- 
tenant. It  is  not  necessary  to  enter  into  the  details 


Call  of  the  Wild  63 

of  the  plot.  It  was  a  prize  scenario  selected  from 
three  thousand  manuscripts.  At  the  precise  mo- 
ment, Juanita  was  striving  to  guard  her  fatal  secret 
from  the  searching  questions  of  the  stern  old 
hidalgo.  Juanita  was  Miss  Winthrop;  but  Latimer's 
attention  went  first,  not  to  her,  but  to  Baby. 

That  infant  stood  beside  the  camera  operator,  a 
florid,  perspiring  bulk  in  shirt-sleeves,  and  shouted 
orders — at  whom?  Yes,  at  the  great  Miss  Win- 
throp, among  others.  It  was  a  different  Baby  from 
the  surly,  half -tamed  mastiff  whom  Gladys  paraded 
in  her  auto  and  forced  to  eat  out  of  her  hand.  This 
was  his  hour,  his  regular  daily  hour  of  mastery; 
in  a  professional  way,  to  be  sure,  but  still,  mastery. 
To  Latimer  at  that  moment  Baby  was  overwhelm- 
ing, Napoleonic. 

Juanita  was  registering  indignant  amazement  at 
the  drift  of  her  stern  parent's  inquiries. 

"Scorn!  scorn!"  shouted  Baby.  "That's  it! 
You're  a  daughter  of  the  Tropics  and  you'd  as  soon 
as  not  slip  a  knife  into  the.  venerable  greaser. 
Blaze  at  him!  Shrivel  him  up!  I  know  you  are 
innocent,  but  you've  got  to  convince  Jones." 

("Jones,"  whispered  Perkins,  "is  the  father.") 

It  was  evident  to  Latimer  that  a  great  deal  of 
the  Winthrop  magic  that  had  enthralled  six  con- 


64          Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

tinents  and  Polynesia,  must  be  credited  to  this 
transformed,  demiurgic  Baby.  In  justice  to  Gladys 
it  must  be  recorded,  however,  that  she  did  not  fall 
too  often  under  the  hot  rain  of  Baby's  reproof. 
For  minutes  at  a  stretch  she  went  through  her 
absurd  mummery  with  a  fluency  of  gesture,  a 
lightning  play  of  those  world-famous  eyes,  that 
fascinated  Latimer. 

"  Superb,"  he  said.  "  But  as  for  the  other,  im- 
possible ! " 

He  was  referring  to  Jones,  whom  even  Lati- 
mer's untrained  judgment  found  a  rather  wooden 
Alvarez. 

Baby  raged  at  the  hidalgo. 

"  Snarl,  for  God's  sake,  snarl,  Jonesy !  Look  as 
if  you'll  eat  her  if  she  don't  out  with  the  truth. 
My  God,  no !  You  ain't  making  love  to  her !  You 
ain't  trying  to  sell  her  a  bungalow  on  Flushing  Bay ! 
You  are  telling  her  that  if  she  be  false  to  her  coun- 
try and  her  faith,  then,  by  the  memory  of  her 
sainted  mother,  you'll  show  her!  There's  royal 
blood  in  your  veins,  Jonesy;  you're  a  descendant 
of  kings;  bite  her — that's  better — oh,  gosh!  " 

"  A  pitiful  performance,"  hissed  Latimer.  "  Not 
a  trace  of  the  fire  and  dignity  of  the  Castilian 
strain.  Why,  any  one — " 


Call  of  the  Wild  65 

This  time  Baby  caught  his  words  and  turned.  A 
flush  of  gratification  colored  that  heavy  counte- 
nance, and  his  greetings  were  cordial.  Miss  Win- 
throp  broke  out  of  the  scene  to  seize  Latimer's 
hands  in  her  own  and  beam  welcome.  She  was  far 
less  pleasing  in  her  ghostly  make-up  of  powder  and 
pigment  than  in  her  normal  self,  and  she  knew  it; 
but  they  were  the  trappings  of  her  fame. 

"Do  you  like  me,  Professor  Latimer?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"  You  are  wonderful,  mi  Juanita,"  he  said,  pat- 
ting her  hand.  "  But  your  father,  if  I  may  venture 
to  say  so,  fails  to  do  you  credit." 

"  Then  suppose  you  play  Don  Alvarez  to  me  ?  " 

He  hesitated,  looked  about  him,  received  an  as- 
senting smile  from  Perkins,  and  was  lost. 

"  I  dare  say,  with  a  knowledge  of  the  Spanish 
character  and  the  elements  of  Latin-American  his- 
tory, one  might — " 

"  Fine ! "  said  Baby,  who  was  quite  as  eager  as 
Gladys  to  exhibit  himself  in  action.  "  You'll  find 
all  the  clothes  you  want  in  the  next  house.  Archi- 
bald will  show  you." 

"  But  is  it  essential  to  array  one's  self  in  all 
this  ?  "  said  Latimer. 

Miss  Winthrop  insisted  that  the  sense  of  being 


66  Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

entirely  in  the  picture  would  react  favorably  on  his 
art.  When  Latimer  emerged  from  the  dressing- 
room  in  the  habiliments  of  Alvarez,  Baby's  pro- 
fessional eye  gave  approval.  Latimer  was  not  of 
the  Quixote  build,  but  the  vivid,  massive  face  in 
its  frame  of  white  beard,  the  eyes  alight  with  the 
zest  of  adventure,  were  eloquent  of  the  noble  blood 
of  Spain.  Jonesy,  quite  free  from  resentment, 
whispered  to  Perkins, — 

"  The  old  boy  has  my  job  whenever  he  wants  it." 

Latimer  took  his  stand  near  the  fountain.  Per- 
kins, in  his  capacity  as  deputy  assistant  editor,  read 
out  the  script  for  the  scene.  Baby  gave  him  a  few 
hints  as  to  distance  and  attitude.  Latimer  strode 
forward,  raised  his  arm  in  menace  over  his  daugh- 
ter, and  balked. 

"What  do  I  say?"  he  asked. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  say  ?  "  said  Baby. 

"  I  distinctly,  recall  seeing  Miss  Winthrop  and 
Mr.  Jones  address  each  other." 

Baby  grinned. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  author  forgot  to  put  in  the 
dialogue.  It's  up  to  you,  professor." 

"  Say  anything  that  comes  into  your  head,  Dr. 
Latimer,"  counseled  Perkins. 

Miss  Winthrop  showed  him  how.      She  swam 


Call  of  the  Wild  67 

forward,  threw  one  arm  around  his  neck,  and 
said, — 

"  Good-morning,  father.  Do  you  think  it  will 
rain  to-morrow,  Professor  Latimer?  You  sent  for 
me?" 

He  was  an  apt  pupil.  Pulling  the  fatal  letter 
from  his  pocket,  he  flourished  it  before  her  eyes, 
tapped  it  with  a  menacing  finger,  and  said,  "  Daugh- 
ter, we  the  people  of  the  United  States,  in  order 
to  form  a  more  perfect  union,  what  is  the  mean- 
ing of  this  ?  " 

In  Juanita's  wondrous  eyes  affection  gave  way 
to  the  first  premonitions  of  peril. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  father.  One  times  two 
is  two,  two  times  two  is  four,  three  times  two  is 
six,  father,  you  do  not  mistrust  me  ?  " 

"  Punch,  professor,  more  punch !  "  shouted  Baby. 

Latimer  tore  Juanita's  hand  from  his  neck,  glared 
at  her  from  beneath  lowered  eyelids,  and  thun- 
dered,— 

"Juanita,  last  week  the  U-boats  sank  twenty- 
three  ships  of  over  1600  tons  and  thirty-seven  ships 
of  less  than  1600  tons.  Will  you  answer?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  entreaty. 

"  Four  times  five  is  four  times  five  is  four  times 
five.  Won't  you  believe  me?" 


68  Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

Latimer  seized  her  by  the  shoulders.  In  his  face 
paternal  love  and  fanatic  hatred  of  the  Americanos 
contended  for  mastery. 

"  Daughter,"  he  cried  passionately,  "  if  the  square 
of  the  hypothenuse  is  equal  to  the  sum  of  the 
squares  of  the  other  two  sides,  by  the  memory  of 
your  sainted  mother,  it  will  be  so." 

And  then  confusion  overtook  him.  He  stam- 
mered, laughed,  went  hot  with  shame,  and  ran  for 
the  dressing-room  amid  the  plaudits  of  a  hilarious 
audience. 

Miss  Winthrop  in  her  boudoir  tent  gave  them 
tea  out  of  a  silver  urn  presented  to  her  by  a  prince 
of  Siam. 

"  Now  that  you  are  one  of  us,  Dr.  Latimer,  what 
do  you  really  think  of  our  work  ?  "  she  asked. 

Latimer  was  diplomatic. 

"  In  respect  to  range  of  appeal,  the  history  of  art 
has  seen  nothing  like  it,"  he  said.  "  Yet  I  must 
confess  that  to  me  the  one  thing  in  the  theatre  is 
the  spoken  word.  Now  a  voice  like  yours,  Miss 
Winthrop — what  might  not  one  do  with  it  ?  " 

She  beamed  upon  him. 

"  Some  day,  Dr.  Latimer,  perhaps — " 

She  was  about  to  honor  him  with  her  confidence, 


"Punch,  Professor,   more  punch!"  shouted  Baby 


Call  of  the  Wild  69 

but  Latimer  suddenly  put  down  his  tea-cup,  jumped 
up,  and  turned  to  the  door. 

'  Your  indulgence  for  a  moment,  Miss  Winthrop, 
but  I  must  see  Jones." 

She  wondered  and  gave  regal  consent. 

He  found  the  Mexican  father  drinking  bottled 
beer  in  the  shadow  of  the  oleanders.  At  the  sight 
of  Latimer,  the  old  hidalgo,  with  perfect  muscular 
adjustment,  cleared  a  space  on  the  table  with  one 
hand,  reached  behind  with  the  other  for  another 
bottle,  and  pushed  forward  a  chair  with  his 
foot. 

Latimer's  face  was  red  and  he  breathed  rapidly. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  stay,  Mr.  Jones,  but  I 
want  to  ask  your  pardon." 

"  Sure,"  said  the  noble  Castilian.    "  For  what?  " 

"  I  came  into  the  camp  a  guest,"  said  Latimer. 
"  I  presumed  to  speak  in  criticism  of  your  work 
without  the  justification  of  the  most  elementary  ac- 
quaintance with  your  art.  It  was  a  procedure  which 
I  feel  was  neither  intelligent  nor  decent." 

The  hidalgo  got  to  his  feet. 

"  There's  nothing  to  pardon,  Dr.  Latimer.  In 
the  first  place  I  am  a  rotten  actor.  In  the  second 
place  I  had  forgotten  what  you  said." 

"  It  was  wanton  impertinence  on  my  part,"  de- 


70          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

clared  Latimer.  "  I  insist  that  you  recognize  it  as 
such  and  forgive  me." 

Jones  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  trust  we  shall  always  be  friends,"  he  said 
gravely. 

Latimer  took  the  hand  in  both  his  own. 


CHAPTER  VI 
LADIES  ERRANT 

THE  latest  phases  of  the  struggle  for  Mexican 
freedom  had  been  happily  devoid  of  casualties  for 
the  Intercontinental  Film  army,  and  three  enam- 
eled bedsteads  in  the  hospital  tent  stood  unoccupied 
while  the  doctor  and  the  two  nurses  helped  out  in 
the  mob  scenes.  In  hospital,  therefore,  Latimer 
slept  the  sleep  of  the  just;  that  is  to  say,  he  had  a 
tolerable  night  of  rest  once  he  did  succeed  in  going 
to  sleep. 

For  the  sleep  of  the  just  is  really  after  the  fol- 
lowing manner:  It  begins  with  a  wide-eyed  review 
of  the  events  of  the  day.  In  the  course  of  this 
retrospect  the  victories  and  fulfilments  shrink  to 
very  moderate  dimensions,  but  the  failures  and 
faux  pas  flare  out  in  the  dark  like  an  illuminated 
whiskey  sign  in  the  theatrical  district.  The  just 
man  stares  up  at  the  ceiling  from  above  his  coverlet 
and  groans  with  the  memory  of  things  that  could 
have  been  so  much  better  said.  So  Latimer  lay  on 
his  hospital  bed  and  groaned  and  blushed  with 

71 


72  Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

shame  at  the  thought  of  his  incursion  into  the  art 
of  the  movies,  and  whenever  a  particularly  acute 
twinge  of  remorse  shot  above  the  general  level  of 
repentance,  he  gasped  and  caught  his  breath. 

But  when  the  docket  for  the  day  has  been  cleared 
the  just  man  who  is  trying  to  go  to  sleep  turns  him 
to  the  burdens  of  the  next  day,  to  the  countless 
duties  that  clamor  for  action,  and  which  one  shall 
be  taken  up  first  ?  Likewise  there  are  pitfalls  which 
strew  the  path  of  to-morrow  and  which  must  be 
avoided,  by  Heavens,  which  must  be  avoided !  "  I 
made  a  very  recognizable  fool  of  myself,"  whis- 
pered Latimer.  "  I  must  see  to  it  that  this  never 
happens  again;  never,  never."  Thus  comforted, 
this  particular  just  man  feel  asleep  sometime  after 
midnight. 

He  had  made  his  farewells  to  Gladys  and  Baby 
the  night  before.  Breakfast  was  perfunctory,  but 
cheered  by  the  presence  of  Perkins,  who,  aided  and 
abetted  by  a  brilliant,  warming  sun,  succeeded  in 
winning  Latimer  back  to  happiness.  The  better 
part  of  the  morning  went  into  a  tour  of  camp  inspec- 
tion under  the  playwright's  guidance.  When  Lati- 
mer was  finally  on  the  road  turned  south,  Perkins 
gave  him  escort  for  the  first  difficult  mile.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  creek  Perkins  said  good-bye. 


Ladies  Errant  73 

"  We  shall  be  here  for  a  fortnight,  at  least,"  he 
ventured.  "If  you  set  up  headquarters  anywhere 
in  the  vicinity  we  may  meet.  I  do  a  bit  of  walking 
myself  after  the  day's  work." 

"  But  in  any  case  I  am  to  have  my  tickets  for  the 
first  night,"  insisted  Latimer.  "  The  very  best  of 
good  fortune  to  you  and  your  family." 

He  found  yesterday's  peace  again  on  the  road.  It 
ran  hard  by  the  creek  for  a  good  hour  until  Latimer 
caught  the  glint  of  water  to  the  left.  It  could  not 
be  the  main  stream,  whose  course  he  could  trace  well 
towards  the  horizon.  Therefore  this  must  be  some 
tributary  which,  from  its  direction,  would  enter  the 
creek  not  more  than  half  a  mile  away.  The  junc- 
tion point  he  assumed  would  be  in  a  grove  of  silver 
birches  that  offered  the  promise  of  an  admirable 
halting  place  for  lunch  and  reflection.  And  it  was 
so.  He  was  hesitating  between  a  great  boulder 
which  jutted  into  the  creek  like  a  local  Gibraltar, 
and  a  grassy  peninsula  with  milder  scenic  effects 
but  more  comfort,  when  he  heard  voices. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Polly,  he  won't  touch  you." 
It  was  evidently  a  young  girl  who  spoke,  but  the 
crisp  scorn  of  the  words  was  masculine. 

"  I  dare  not,  Winifred,  he's  eyeing  me  so,"  re- 
plied a  tremulous  contralto. 


74          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

Through  the  heart  of  the  birch  grove  a  dirt  road 
entered  the  highway,  and  a  little  way  up,  two 
women  in  khaki  skirts,  with  knapsacks,  were  re- 
vealed in  a  tableau  of  daring  youth  and  middle- 
aged  panic. 

"  You  only  have  to  whistle  and  walk  ahead  and 
he'll  scamper  off,"  the  young  platoon  leader  was 
saying.  Now  it  was  obviously  she  who  had  been 
called  Winifred. 

"  There's  such  a  look  in  his  eye.  I  am  sure  he 
is  going  to  charge,"  said  Polly. 

"  But  a  calf  don't  climb  fences,"  Winifred 
stormed. 

"  He  might  go  right  through,  if  his  mind's  made 
up,"  said  Polly. 

It  may  have  been  Polly's  unmanly  fear  that 
roused  the  enemy,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  as  Latimer 
hastened  forward  the  calf  cast  off  all  semblance  of 
self-control.  He  galloped  up  and  down  the  fence, 
seeking,  as  Polly  believed,  a  gap  in  the  wire  for 
his  sortie. 

"  Polly,"  cried  Winifred.    "  Even  a  rabbit—" 

"  Permit  me,  ladies,"  said  Latimer,  coming  up  on 
the  run.  "  It  should  be  a  simple  matter  to  repel 
the  animal  from  the  proximity  of  the  fence." 

But  the  calf  refused  to  be  intimidated  by  the  ar- 


Ladies  Errant  75 

rival  of  enemy  reinforcements  and  manceuvered 
faster  than  ever.  As  for  Latimer,  he  was  in  a 
quandary.  His  mere  personal  presence  having 
failed  to  shatter  the  calf's  morale,  he  found  himself 
utterly  at  a  loss  regarding  the  proper  form  of  ad- 
monition for  that  particular  animal  species.  He 
racked  his  memory  for  the  various  forms  of  address 
employed  to  inspire  fear  or  respect  in  domestic 
breeds,  but  he  could  think  only  of  "  Whoa,"  and 
"  Scat,"  of  which  the  second  was  obviously  impos- 
sible, and  the  first  might  be  taken  as  an  invitation 
instead  of  a  warning.  He  had  almost  decided  that 
"  Hi,"  was  a  universal  term  of  reproach  when 
Winifred  met  the  emergency  by  picking  up  a  stone 
and  hurling  it,  with  moderate  speed  and  aimed  to 
hit  the  ground,  in  the  general  direction  of  the 
enemy.  It  struck  the  calf  fair  in  the  side,  where- 
upon the  foe  bellowed  and  dashed  away  across 
lots. 

Polly  came  forward,  her  thin  face  aglow  with 
the  emotion  of  battle,  and  thanked  Latimer  for  his 
intervention.  But  Winifred's  lips  curled  up  into 
something  that  set  out  to  be  contempt  and  ended 
as  clear  laughter.  It  impressed  Latimer  as  the  most 
stimulating  sound  he  had  heard  since  the  beginning 
of  his  pilgrimage. 


76          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Thank  your  companion,"  said  Latimer.  "  While 
I  was  debating  ways  and  means  she  revealed  a 
capacity  for  action  which  reminds  one  strongly  of 
Lloyd  George." 

But  Polly  insisted  on  being  grateful,  though 
somewhat  incoherently,  for  she  needed  one  eye  and 
half  her  mind  to  keep  on  the  receding  peril.  The 
trend  of  her  remarks  was  that  somehow  the  calf 
had  yielded  to  Latimer's  personal  magnetism,  rather 
than  Winifred's  direct  onslaught. 

"  Polly  is  a  womanly  woman,"  explained  Wini- 
fred. "  That  is  why  she  is  afraid  of  a  calf  and 
why  she  assumes  that  she  could  have  been  rescued 
only  by  a  man." 

"  We  all  have  our  susceptibilities,"  said  Latimer. 
"  Remember  Shylock.  Strong  men  have  been 
known  to  be  afraid  of  mice." 

"  Polly  is  timid  about  the  whole  animal  king- 
dom," said  Winifred.  "  If  there  is  anything  Polly 
is  more  afraid  of  than  cows,  it's  poultry.  Yester- 
day we  were  held  up  by  an  infuriated  hen." 

"  Under  the  circumstances  I  should  imagine  you 
would  find  walking  in  the  open  country  a  hardship," 
said  Latimer. 

"  I  do  it  as  a  discipline,"  said  Polly,  with  a  win- 
ning humility.  "  I  love  the  open  too  much  to  give 


Ladies  Errant  77 

it  up  for  its  dangers.  Wouldn't  you  call  it  a  kind 
of  sea-sickness?"  she  pleaded. 

"  Unquestionably,  madam,"  Latimer  responded 
gravely.  "  As  I  have  intimated,  there  are  soldiers 
who  charge  the  machine  guns  in  a  palsy  of  cow- 
ardice. Your  merit  is  no  less." 

With  that  he  had  won  the  esteem  and  confidence 
of  Winifred,  who  gave  him  a  look  of  comradeship 
out  of  her  laughing  eyes.  She  was  holding  the 
lead,  with  Latimer  and  Polly  mechanically  in  step. 
There  was  a  glint  of  the  paternal  in  the  smile  with 
which  these  broke  off  their  talk  every  little  while 
to  approve  of  Winifred.  She  was  a  fitful  com- 
panion :  now  in  rank  with  the  other  two  and  an 
amused  ear  to  their  conversation;  now  falling  be- 
hind; but  for  the  greater  part  in  extended  skirmish 
line  well  ahead,  with  an  eager  eye  for  the  multi- 
farious exhibits  of  the  Big  Show  they  were  travers- 
ing. She  stopped  to  peer  up  into  the  trees  for  the 
source  of  twitterings  and  chirpings  which  she  imi- 
tated or  burlesqued.  She  stooped  for  pebbles  which 
she  studied  with  intense  concentration  and  threw 
to  one  side.  She  ran  suddenly  to  the  side  of  the 
road  and  made  reconnaissance  among  the  bushes 
and  the  undergrowth.  She  was  joyously  at  home. 

"  Don't  you  think  she's  a  dear?  "  said  Polly.    She 


78  Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

looked  up  at  Latimer  in  a  glow  of  adoration  for 
the  girl  that  gave  almost  beauty  to  the  sallow  elderly 
face. 

"  Emphatically,"  said  Latimer,  his  eyes  on  the 
girl.  "  She's  like  a  bird  let  loose.  Presumably  this 
is  your  summer  outing?" 

"  It  is.  And  Winifred  had  such  a  dreadful  time 
of  it  before  we  came  out." 

"  She  works  as  hard  as  she  plays?  " 

"  Oh,  dreadfully.  I  could  never  stand  it.  It 
needs  youth,  and  courage  and  hope." 

"  Miss  Winifred  is—" 

"  With  the  Factory  Inspection  Department." 

"  Oh,  naturally,"  and  Latimer  looked  at  the  girl 
with  a  shamed  sense  of  his  own  futility. 

"  Only  it's  not  the  work,"  said  Polly.  "  It's  the 
brutal  politics.  The  people  in  the  Department  don't 
want  women." 

"  Strange,"  said  Latimer.  "  Since  women  have 
been  accustomed  to  take  orders  for  several  thousand 
years,  it  should  make  them  admirable  tools  for  the 
most  exacting  politician  employer." 

"  But  we  won't  take  graft,"  said  Polly. 

Latimer  turned  to  face  her. 

"You  mean  bribes?  For  winking  at  the  viola- 
tion of  the  factory  laws  ?  " 


Ladies  Errant  79 

"  That's  just  it." 

He  could  not  conceive  it. 

"  The  factory  people  dislike  us  because  women 
are  inclined  to  fuss,"  said  Polly.  "  We  don't  take 
a  business-like  view  of  the  matter.  Whereas  the 
men  are — reasonable."  Polly  snapped  out  her  words 
viciously.  "  Many  of  them  double  their  salaries  by 
being  reasonable." 

Latimer  stopped  in  his  tracks. 

"  But  these  inspectors  who  take  bribes,  they  are 
not  of  the  wealthy  classes?" 

"  They  begin  by  being  poor." 

"  They  come,  then,  from  the  working  people," 
said  Latimer,  his  face  flushed  and  his  nostrils  twitch- 
ing. "  Virtually  they  come  from  the  same  families 
as  the  girls  who  toil  in  the  factories.  And  when 
they  take  money  for  permitting  the  violation  of  the 
fire  laws — it  is  their  own  sisters — their  own  flesh 
and  blood — oh,  it's  too  horrible !  " 

"  That's  our  competitive  system,"  said  Polly, 
with  an  attempt  at  class-conscious  ferocity  which 
she  carried  off  only  so-so;  Latimer  thought  she  was 
repeating  a  lesson. 

"  Competitive  system  nonsense ! "  he  shouted. 
"  It  is  the  old,  unregenerate  heart  of  man.  I  defy 
you  to  create  an  economic  system  which  will  relieve 


80          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

men  from  the  temptation  of  burning  up  their  own 
sisters." 

"  Of  course,  I  know  very  little  about  it,"  said 
Polly,  succumbing  to  masculine  assertion. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Latimer.  "  I  am  still 
too  easy  a  victim  of  my  temper.  You  were  saying 
of  Miss  Winifred?" 

"  They  did  their  best  to  drive  her  out  of  the 
department.  She  stood  it  like  a  brick.  They  hu- 
miliated her.  They  found  errors  in  her  reports. 
They  corrected  her  grammar — the  illiterate  brutes! 
They  sent  her  out  in  the  company  of  dirty  men  with 
a  jowl  and  smelling  of  whiskey.  But  she  stuck. 
Finally  she  received  a  hint  that  her  resignation 
would  be  appreciated." 

"  The  infamous  scoundrels !  "  cried  Latimer. 

"  Then  Winifred  called  on  the  Chief  and  told 
him  if  the  persecutions  didn't  stop  she  would  be 
compelled  to  ask  for  his  resignation." 

"  Oh,  splendid !  "  yelled  Latimer,  and  Winifred, 
far  ahead,  turned  and  looked  at  them.  "  But 
how?" 

"  She  told  the  Chief  she  would  have  him  up  on 
charges  before  the  Governor.  The  brute  was  fright- 
ened; he  waited  to  see  what  would  happen.  Well, 
plenty  happened.  The  very  next  day  there  was  a 


Ladies  Errant  81 

story  in  the  Times  about  the  Factory  Department, 
and  the  afternoon  papers  began  poking  around. 
Winifred  knows  dozens  of  newspaper  boys — 
they  were  always  interviewing  her  anyhow.  Why, 
one  of  them  once  spent  two  weeks  on  a  story  about 
the  girls  who  make  ladies'  wrappers,  and  he  inter- 
viewed Winifred  twice  a  day  for  two  weeks 
straight — I  wonder  why." 

"  To  be  sure,  I  wonder  why,"  said  Lati- 
mer  as  he  watched  Winifred  doing  the  manual 
of  arms  in  the  middle  of  the  road  quite 
like  a  professional  "  Shoulder  arrrms,  hrumph ! 
Order  arrrms,  Grumph!  By  the  right  flank. 
Umppp!" 

"  And  she  knows  all  the  sob  sisters,"  said  Polly, 
"and  the  editors  of  all  the  radical  weeklies,  and 
all  the  millionaire  women  suffragists.  At  any  rate, 
in  just  one  week  the  Sun  announced  that  there  was 
a  project  under  way  to  organize  a  Factory  Workers' 
Protective  Association." 

"  Bravo!  "  and  Latimer  clapped. 

"  Only  they  didn't  have  to.  The  Chief  called  in 
Winifred  and  said  there  was  a  vacancy  in  the  Chil- 
dren's Welfare  Department  at  $3000  a  year  for 
which  he  would  be  glad  to  recommend  her.  Wini- 
fred said  she  could  get  on  fine  on  $1200.  And  the 


82          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

bullying  stopped.  Now  she  is  resting.  Isn't  he 
wonderful  ?  " 

They  were  once  more  up  with  Winifred.  She 
had  been  standing  still  and  pitching  stones  into  the 
water. 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  turtle  and  I  tried  to  stir  him 
up,  the  silly  old  conservative,"  she  said,  with  great 
disgust.  "  But  it's  only  a  stone.  Lunch,  Polly." 

The  two  women  had  breakfasted  early  and  made 
nine  miles.  Woman's  capacity  to  move  mountains 
on  a  lettuce-sandwich  is  one  of  the  wonders  of 
thermodynamics.  Latimer,  accepted  as  a  companion, 
was  nevertheless  excluded  by  a  two-thirds  vote  from 
any  share  in  the  preparation  of  the  meal.  Wini- 
fred went  ahead  to  scout  for  a  camping  place,  and 
Polly  continued  to  prattle. 

Of  herself  Polly  told  very  little,  though  Latimer 
did  pick  up  the  suggestion  that  she  was  in  some 
branch  of  educational  work;  at  least,  teaching  was 
mentioned,  and  once  the  phrase  "  self-expression." 
Latimer  tried  hard  to  place  this  Polly  in  the  world 
of  aggressive,  fermenting,  modern  young  woman- 
hood which  the  outline  of  Winifred's  history  had 
opened  up.  For  that  matter  there  were  in  Polly, 
too,  odd  revelations  of  youth,  quick  decisive  little 
gestures,  bits  of  modern  slang,  which  alternated 


Ladies  Errant  83 

with  sharp  lapses  into  an  older,  more  timid,  type 
of  woman.  Especially  were  there  definite  slips  in 
logic  which  Latimer  classified  as  early  New  Eng- 
land. It  was  as  if  Winifred  had  deliberately 
adopted  for  her  walking  companion  a  chaperon  who 
was  sufficiently  in  sympathy  with  herself  to  insure 
liberty,  but  sufficiently  a  chaperon. 

Only  once  was  Latimer  alarmed,  and  that  was 
when  Polly,  after  a  perfunctory  remark  of  his  on 
the  lovely  woodland  they  were  crossing,  asked  him 
if  he  did  not  think  there  was  a  soul  in  trees  and 
in  stones  as  well  as  in  people,  and  whether  he  did 
not  think  these  souls  were  working  their  way  up- 
wards through  eternity  in  a  cycle  of  spiral  exist- 
ences— 

It  made  Latimer  fear  the  worst,  but  just  then 
came  Winifred's  haloo :  "  Found  it !  " 

She  was  on  her  knees,  bending  to  the  stream; 
and  as  they  two  came  up,  she  was  plunging  her  face 
into  the  water,  again  and  again. 

"  How  Phidias  would  have  appreciated  this  fac- 
tory inspector,"  thought  Latimer. 

"  Towels,  Polly,"  said  Winifred. 

Latimer's  contribution  to  the  repast  was  a  box 
of  bon-bons  which  Miss  Winthrop  had  put  into  his 
knapsack  with  her  own  hands.  Winifred  ate  four 


84          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

bon-bons,  wiped  her  fingers  on  the  grass,  and  drew 
from  a  pocket  in  her  blouse  a  silver  cigarette  case 
which  she  offered  to  the  others.  Latimer  accepted, 
but  Polly  blushed  and  shook  her  head.  Whereupon 
Winifred  hissed  at  her  "  Coward !  ",  lit  her  own 
cigarette,  and  lay  back  on  the  grass  with  her  hands 
behind  her  head,  discharging  smoke  rings  into  the 
azure.  But  Polly  pulled  out  knitting  needles  and 
wool. 

And  while  the  ladies  respectively  smoked  and 
knitted,  Latimer  bragged. 

He  bragged  about  Miss  Winthrop  and  the  pres- 
tige of  her  personal  acquaintance  which  he  could 
claim.  He  tried  not  to  be  overweening,  but  at  the 
same  time  it  was  not  amiss  to  show  this  very  mod- 
ern young  person  in  khaki  and  gaiters  that  he, 
Latimer,  was  not  quite  a  backnumber.  He,  too,  was 
in  touch  with  the  pulse  of  the  times.  He  had — 
hem ! — been  privileged  to  see  Miss  Winthrop  in  ac- 
tion before  the  camera,  a  privilege — hum! — which 
was  not  too  common.  Of  his  own  excursion  into 
the  art  of  the  movies  he  made  no  mention. 

"  I've  seen  her  on  the  screen,"  said  Winifred. 
"  She  is  very  good." 

Oh,  but  much  more  than  that,  insisted  Latimer. 
Behind  the  artist  there  was  the  real  woman.  Con- 


Ladies  Errant  85 

sider  the  remarkable  things  she  had  said  about  life 
in  general  while  they — hem! — were  taking  tea  to- 
gether. Miss  Winthrop  had  said,  for  instance,  what 
would  she  not  give  for  a  bit  of  the  simpler  things  of 
life,  the  things  without  which  no  woman's  life  is 
complete. 

"  Oh,  slush,"  said  Winifred  softly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon?  "  said  Latimer. 

"Just  thinking  aloud,  Dr.  Latimer.  Please  go 
on." 

Miss  Winthrop  had  also  said  that  after  all  a 
woman's  place  is  with  her  children. 

"  Why  with  her's?  "  snapped  Winifred.  "  There 
are  two  million  nursemaids  and  governesses  in  this 
country  whose  place  seems  to  be  with  other  women's 
children." 

"  That  is  a  quibble,"  said  Latimer.  "  I  insist  that 
Miss  Winthrop  was  stating  an  incontrovertible 
truth,  and  one  that  does  her  infinite  credit,  when 
she  said  that  there  is  nothing  higher  in  the  world 
for  a  woman  than  a  good  man's  love." 

Winifred  sat  up  with  a  jerk,  and  threw  her  ciga- 
rette into  the  water. 

"  Disgusting  little  creature,"  she  sniffed. 

"  Winifred !  "  cried  Polly. 

Latimer  grew  indignant,  leaped  mentally  to  the 


86          Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

fray,  and  gave  in.  Ah,  well;  if  Winifred  ate  Miss 
Winthrop's  bon-bons  and  called  her  a  disgusting 
little  creature,  that  was  only  another  revelation  of 
the  modern  conscience. 

"  I  wasn't  referring  to  her,  of  course,  but  to  her 
stale  opinions,"  said  Winifred.  "  Don't  you  know, 
Dr.  Latimer,  that  children  and  a  good  man's  love 
are  the  sure-fire  hits  in  every  vaudeville  house  in 
the  land?  This  fluff  about  the  sanctity  of  child- 
hood makes  me  tired.  What  is  the  use  of  lying 
about  it?  We  don't  treat  children  as  if  they  were 
sacred,  and  they  aren't.  The  trouble  with  this 
world  to-day  is  children." 

"  Children  have  been  the  world's  burden,  the 
world's  victims,  and  the  world's  salvation,"  said 
Latimer.  "  We  can  only  hope." 

"  Things  won't  change  for  the  better  till  we  have 
put  a  stop  to  the  overproduction  of  rickety  chil- 
dren," said  Winifred,  helping  herself  to  another  of 
Miss  Winthrop's  bon-bons.  "  How  are  you  going 
to  clean  up  this  wretched  capitalist  system  if  you 
keep  on  pouring  unlimited  supplies  of  children  into 
the  labor  hopper?  There  ought  to  be  a  legal 
maximum  for  poor  families.  Working  people  ap- 
prehended in  the  possession  of  more  than  three 
children,  at  shorter  intervals  than  four  years  be- 


Ladies  Errant  87 

tween  any  two,  should  be  a  misdemeanor.  There 
can't  be  two  opinions  about  it." 

Latimer  turned  a  slow  but  sure  red  and  became 
interested  in  the  other  side  of  the  creek.  Then 
bracing  himself : 

"  And  how  would  you  solve  the  problem  of 
rickety  children?  " 

"  Get  rid  of  rickety  marriages,"  said  Winifred. 
"  Clean  out  the  whole  cesspool." 

Several  generations  of  Puritan  ancestry  tinged 
Polly's  sallow  cheek. 

"  I  know  of  men  and  women  who  are  beauti- 
fully married,"  she  protested. 

"  Romantic  old  goose,"  sneered  Winifred.  But 
either  out  of  deference  for  Polly's  antiquated  tradi- 
tions or  more  probably  in  the  natural  rebound  of 
her  own  young  spirit,  she  was  soon  away  from  the 
thin  sociological  ice.  Under  a  question  or  two  from 
Latimer  she  spoke  about  herself  and  her  work,  with- 
out pose  and  without  humility.  Her  hands  clasped 
about  her  knees — 

"  Polly,  don't  you  dare  touch  those  dishes  until 
I'm  ready,"  she  called  out. 

"  But  while  you  are  resting,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  East  Haddam,  1825,  that's  your  number, 
Polly,"  she  stormed. 


88  Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

"  Very  well,"  sighed  Polly  and  took  up  her 
knitting — 

— her  hands  clasped  about  her  knees,  she  told 
Latimer  of  her  work,  her  friends,  her  enthusiasms, 
her  pet  hatreds,  all  that  eager,  young,  forward- 
looking  host  which  took  itself  so  seriously,  but  per- 
haps not  more  seriously  than  its  due ;  the  little  world 
of  mingled  Social  Service  and  Bohemia,  of  yeasty 
ideals  in  which  Syndicalism  fraternized  with  the 
classic  dance,  and  Freud  with  the  Russian  ballet. 
But  Latimer  only  half  listened  to  this  familiar 
chronique  of  labor  lyceums,  studios,  secessionist  art 
galleries,  basement-restaurants.  .  .  . 

How  dreadfully  old  were  his  own  ideas!  Some 
going  back  three  thousand  years  perhaps,  some  to 
Adam  Smith,  some  to  John  Stuart  Mill.  Whereas 
Winifred  and  her  friends  had  philosophies  so  new 
that  their  authors  had  not  yet  gotten  into  the  bio- 
graphical dictionaries.  True,  he  had  dipped  into 
Bergson,  he  had  read  several  title  pages  of  Sigmund 
Freud,  and  he  was  not  unacquainted  with  H.  G. 
Wells,  as  we  have  seen.  He  managed  to  bring  the 
last  fact  into  the  conversation. 

Yes,  Winifred  wanted  to  know,  but  had  he  read 
the  three  other  books  by  Wells  published  in  1917? 
No. 


She  told  Lot  inter  of  her  ivork 


Ladies  Errant  89 

How  then  could  he  know  what  was  Mr.  Wells 
latest  position  about  anything? 

He  apologized. 

Yet  his  personal  misgivings  were  lost  in  a  deep 
wonder  at  Winifred  herself.  How  could  one  be  at 
the  same  time  so  joyous  and  so  alive  to  the  pain 
of  things?  She  was  very  happy  under  social  con- 
ditions which  she  had  just  described  as  a  cesspool. 
In  a  world  that  was  as  wretchedly  off  as  it  possibly 
could  be,  she  had  astonishingly  clear  ideas  on  the 
relative  merits  of  the  dancing  floors  at  the  best 
hotels.  Good  heavens,  thought  poor  Latimer,  if 
our  cities  swarm  with  rickety  children,  if  our 
marriage  system  is  nothing  better  than  bargain  and 
sale,  what  difference  does  it  make  whether  one  ate 
at  a  little  Dutch  restaurant  or  in  a  Bulgarian  tea- 
room, as  Winifred  seemed  to  think? 

He  was  greatly  depressed:  but  only  until  the 
business  of  the  dish-washing  supervened.  In  that 
sedative  occupation  there  came  to  him  the  peace  of 
a  golden  afternoon  which  lingered  during  the  two- 
mile  stretch  they  walked  to  the  cross  roads  where 
the  women  stopped  to  say  Good-by.  There  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  have  taken  the  same  road 
save  that  he  did  not  wish  to  intrude.  The  ladies 
were  bound  for  the  home  of  friends  just  a  few  steps 


90  Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

beyond — the  Grimsbys  they  called  them — where 
they  were  to  spend  a  week  in  numerous  company, 
predominantly  modern  and  insurrectionary. 

Latimer  shook  hands  heartily  and  watched  them 
out  of  sight. 

"Now  that  other  one,"  he  thought — "Polly — 
there  is  something  exceedingly  ingratiating  about 
her.  I  wonder  who  she  is  ?  " 

Well,  let  us  tell  him. 


POLLY  earned  her  livelihood  by  teaching  Spon- 
taneous Self-expression  in  a  Studio. 

Once  upon  a  time  a  studio  was  a  place  devoted 
to  the  practice  of  painting  and  sculpture.  Then  the 
other  arts  moved  in;  first  music  with  its  close  asso- 
ciate, the  dance ;  then  literature ;  then  interior  deco- 
ration; then  everything  else  that  was  not  business 
or  was  trying  not  to  be  business.  For  instance, 
though  the  thing  has  not  happened  yet,  we  rriay  con- 
fidently look  forward  to  the  time  when  the  art  of 
advertising  biscuits  and  vacuum  cleaners  will  be 
housed  in  Studios  for  Economic  Suggestion. 

But  that  is  not  all.  In  order  to  be  the  legitimate 
tenant  of  a  studio  it  is  not  essential  that  one  should 
be  a  practitioner  of  any  art  or  profession.  It  is 
enough  if  one  sympathizes.  It  is  the  same  qualifi- 
cation that  makes  insurance  brokers  and  hardware 
wholesalers  eligible  for  the  literary  and  scientific 
clubs  of  which  they  at  present  constitute  a  ma- 
jority of  the  membership;  like  the  National  Geo- 

91 


92          Professor  Latlmer's  Progress 

graphical  Society  for  which  you  qualify  by  sym- 
pathizing with  geography;  or  the  Arctic  Club  for 
which  it  is  required  that  one  should  sympathize 
with  the  Arctic  Circle.  So  with  art  in  general. 
Provided  you  seize  the  importance  of  Art  in  Life, 
not  to  speak  of  attaining  the  ultimate  truth  that  Art 
is  Life,  you  may  equip  a  studio  according  to  your 
means  from  the  duplex  affair  in  the  West  Fifties 
at  $3000  a  year  down  to  the  front  bedroom  on  East 
Eleventh  Street  which  turns  into  a  studio  when  the 
bed  is  covered  with  a  bit  of  tapestry  and  becomes 
a  divan. 

I  cannot  help  feeling  that  we  have  here  one  of 
those  truly  profound  innovations  that  have  sig- 
nalized and  facilitated  our  ascent  through  the  ages; 
like  the  man  who  first  bestrode  a  log  and  began  the 
conquest  of  the  seas;  like  the  man  who  first  tied  a 
flint  stone  to  a  tree  branch;  like  the  man  who  first 
rubbed  two  sticks  together;  simple  actions  in  them- 
selves but  revolutionary.  With  these  must  be 
classed  the  social  forward  leap  involved  in  the 
transformation  of  the  Home  into  the  Studio  and  of 
living  into  the  Art  of  Life. 

But  essentially  the  studio  to-day  is  a  place  where 
the  arts  are  less  frequently  practised  than  taught. 
It  is  what  we  used  to  call  a  schoolroom  in  the  days 


Art  of  Life  93 

before  art  began  to  press  so  heavily  on  life.  In 
every  four  out  of  five  studios  in  New  York,  it  is 
safe  to  say  that  tuition  of  some  kind  is  given. 
Thus,  a  partial  list  would  show : 

Foreign  Language  Studios 

Physical  Culture  Studios 

Music  Studios 

Studios  of  Dramatic  Expression 

Freud- Jung  Studios 

Studios  of  Classic  Dancing 

Studios  of  Modern  Dance 

Studios  of  Interpretative  Dancing 

Studios  for  Self-Development 

Studios  for  Scientific  Thought 

Concentration  Studios 

Spiritual  Relaxation  Studios 

Bahaistic  Studios 

Kindergarten  Studios 

Spontaneous  Play  Studios 

Folk-Dance  Studios 

Folk-Myth  Studios 

Delsarte  Studios 

Eurhythmic  Studios 

Spontaneous  Self-expression  Studios. 

And  incidentally  studios  for  instruction  in  painting 
and  sculpture. 

Polly  came  to  New  York  from  Michigan  with 


94  Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

several  vague  ambitions  and  one  fixed  purpose. 
That  purpose  was  that  whatever  happened,  even 
starvation,  she  would  never  again  teach  public 
school.  Ten  years  were  enough.  Of  the  vague 
ambitions,  the  one  least  shadowy  was  that  which 
hovered  about — yes — the  theatre.  She  had  shown 
at  home  a  brightness  of  gesture  and  speech  and  a 
gift  for  sympathetic  mimicry  that  made  well- 
meaning  friends  ask  why  not  the  stage  ?  Such  sug- 
gestions Polly  brushed  aside  and  secretly  cherished; 
until  one  day  she  told  the  School  Superintendent 
what  she  thought  of  him,  and  took  the  train  for 
New  York. 

Fortunately  or  unfortunately  she  brought  with 
her  from  Michigan  a  sense  of  humor  and  a  strain 
of  Puritan  blood.  She  was  not  sufficiently  bitten 
with  .the  stage  to  persist  after  the  first  timid  ap- 
proaches to  the  managers.  Now  the  New  York 
managers  are  better  than  their  reputation  for  blunt 
speaking.  Instead  of  brutally  telling  her  the  truth, 
namely  that  she  had  not  the  physical  gifts  to  compel 
success  on  the  stage  and  that  her  talents  were  not 
sufficiently  conspicuous  to  atone  for  that  prime  de- 
fect, they  shifted  in  their  chairs,  looked  out  of  the 
window  and  told  her  that  the  theatre  was  in  its 
decline,  that  the  movies  had  killed  the  drama,  and 


Art  of  Life  95 

that  Broadway  stars  were  facing  the  choice  between 
the  Pictures  and  destitution.  They  were  rather 
nice  about  it  and  Polly  saw  exactly  what  they  were 
driving  at.  Also  a  glimpse  of  one  or  two  theatrical 
booking  offices  sent  a  slight  chill  through  the  New 
England  blood  in  her  veins.  She  sat  in  her  room 
one  night  and  cried  and  hated  herself  for  a  coward 
and  a  prude,  and  turned  away  from  the  theatre  with 
a  sense  of  great  relief. 

For  literature,  which  was  next  in  the  line  of  her 
dim  aspirations,  she  found  herself  handicapped  by 
an  excess  of  several  very  human  qualities.  Polly 
had  the  fatal  gift  of  a  warm  heart  and  a  ready 
tongue.  It  was  all  well  enough  for  her  Michigan 
friends  to  tell  her  she  only  need  write  as  she  talked 
and  the  magazine  editors  would  fight  for  her  copy. 
It  could  not  be  done.  If  some  one  had  concealed 
a  dictaphone  under  Polly's  breakfast  table,  he 
might  have  gathered,  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight, 
plenty  of  material  which  the  magazine  editors  would 
have  licked  into  commercial  shape.  But  when  Polly 
sat  down  with  pen  and  paper  she  grew  tongue-tied. 
And  once  more  New  England  intervened  to  her 
harm.  With  effort  she  might  have  learned  how  to 
turn  her  bright  everyday  chatter  into  salable  copy, 
but  was  it  Literature?  And  what  would  Lowell 


96  Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

and  Emerson  and  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  do  in 
their  graves? 

Ultimately  she  did  what  her  friends  in  Michigan 
would  never  have  dared  to  mention.  She  acquired 
stenography,  and  after  six  months  with  a  hardware 
firm  on  Barclay  Street,  she  got  as  near  to  literature 
as  she  henceforth  hoped  to  approach.  She  became 
assistant  secretary  in  a  publisher's  office  and  within 
a  year  she  was  secretary.  She  carried  in  her  head 
all  the  details  of  the  firm's  business  as  far  back  as 
the  year  1907  and  took  dictation  from  a  man  who 
smoked  black  cigars  to  which  she  grew  partly  ac- 
customed and  commanded  an  imperfect  literary 
style  which  she  revised  as  a  matter  of  course.  He 
would  vindicate  his  authority  by  picking  out  one 
out  of  a  dozen  corrections  in  his  copy  and  insisting 
on  having  it  changed  back,  and  on  that  basis  they 
got  on  very  well,  until  the  long  hours  and  the  lack 
of  air  and  light  and  the  black  cigars  and  the  tar- 
nished halo  of  literature  as  seen  from  the  inside 
wore  on  her.  She  knew  many  women  by  this  time 
who  were  self-supporting  and  their  own  masters. 
They  took  long  vacations,  owned  shacks  in  the 
suburbs,  and  occasionally  borrowed  money  from 
her,  but  were  always  free — and  young.  The  old 
stirrings  towards  art  awoke;  in  part,  presum- 


Art  of  Life  97 

ably,  because  Polly  felt  she  was  getting  older,  and 
you  always  go  to  art  to  replace  the  vitality  of 
youth. 

Ultimately  she  hired  a  studio  and  opened  classes 
in  Spontaneous  Self-expression;  and  so  entered  the 
ranks  of  the  Spasmodic  or  Upside-down  Profes- 
sions. 

Polly  was  amazed,  when  she  came  to  look  about 
for  an  escape  from  the  publishing  business,  to  find 
how  many  women  in  New  York,  in  the  transition 
from  the  parasite  to  the  producer,  were  earning  a 
livelihood  against  most  of  the  laws  of  economics 
and  some  of  the  laws  of  nature.  On  the  Woman's 
Page  in  the  evening  newspapers  there  had  grown 
up  an  entire  literature  connected  with  these  upside- 
down  occupations.  In  fact  it  was  the  essence 
and  attraction  of  these  occupations  that  they  should 
be  upside  down.  Polly  read  of  young  widows 
with  dependent  children  who  raised  mushrooms  in 
the  cellars  of  uptown  apartment  houses.  There 
were  women  who  grew  violets  for  the  market  on 
board  abandoned  canal-boats.  There  were  women 
who  toured  the  countryside  in  a  Ford,  giving  les- 
sons on  the  piano  to  farmers'  children.  It  is 
probable  that  these  professions  were  really  created 
by  the  editors  of  the  Woman's  Page.  They  began, 


98  Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

legitimately  enough,  by  chronicling  unusual  cases  of 
woman's  enterprise  in  search  of  a  living.  They  be- 
gan with  women  who  hired  themselves  out  as  chap- 
erons to  motherless  girls  from  out  of  town,  or 
women  who  took  up  abandoned  farms  and  worked 
them  for  a  profit. 

And  then  it  was  as  it  always  has  been  in  the 
newspaper  business.  The  appetite  for  novelty,  the 
passion  for  the  headline,  clamored  for  stronger 
meat.  The  Home  Page  editors,  in  a  frantic  hunt 
for  copy,  invented  professions  on  the  typewriter, 
only  to  have  the  fiction  taken  up  seriously  by 
credulous  women  eager  for  employment.  But  al- 
ways the  rule  remained  that  these  professions  should 
be  upside  down;  that  mushroom  growing,  which 
would  naturally  be  conducted  in  the  country  or  at 
least  in  the  suburbs,  should  be  practised  near 
Eighth  Avenue;  that  violets  should  be  raised  in 
abandoned  canal  boats  or  retired  freight  cars  or 
anywhere  but  in  the  natural  soil;  whereas  piano- 
teaching  which  is  preeminently  an  urban  occupation 
should  be  conducted  like  a  milk-route,  by  a  woman 
touring  the  countryside  in  a  Ford. 

The  newspapers  helped  to  create  the  profession 
of  teaching  Self-expression,  but  the  newspapers 
were  not  the  only  factor  in  this  instance.  There 


Art  of  Life  99 

entered  here  the  spirit  of  a  new  age  working  for 
the  Emancipation  of  the  Individual.  As  more 
and  more  people  learned  that  it  is  not  merely  a 
Right,  but  a  Duty,  to  be  Free,  to  Live  One's 
Life,  to  Sense,  and  React,  and  give  Spontaneous 
Utterance  to  the  Joy  of  Things,  the  demand 
naurally  arose  for  schools  and  teachers  of  spon- 
taneity. 

Polly  herself  could  not  help  wondering  some- 
times at  the  extraordinary  number  of  things  that 
people  were  now  learning  to  do  spontaneously  which 
once  upon  a  time  they  did  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Only  it  is  not  quite  right  to  say  that  they  learn  or 
that  the  teachers  of  spontaneity  teach.  They  only 
help  us  reacquire.  They  stimulate  the  Self  to  re- 
conquer its  own  capacities.  What  the  teacher  of 
spontaneity  does,  if  I  may  quote  from  a  circular, 
is  to  knock  the  Shackles  from  the  Spirit,  and  let 
the  Self  which  is  Life,  speak  out  in  that  Identifica- 
tion with  the  Throb  of  the  Universe  which  is  Joy. 
In  some  circulars  the  Throb  of  the  Universe  is 
Creative  Love. 

The  fact  remains  that  the  spontaneous  way  of 
performing  such  comparatively  simple  actions  as 
breathing,  eating,  sleeping,  and  playing  has  been 
restored  to  a  generation  which  is  fast  making  life 


ioo        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

an  art  and  art  a  life.  Oddly  enough,  the  most  ele- 
mentary actions  are  the  hardest  to  be  spontaneous 
about.  Philosophers  who  have  defined  man  as  a 
talking  animal,  on  the  assumption  that  speech  is  a 
fundamental  human  faculty,  plainly  knew  nothing 
of  Voice  Culture.  When  they  defined  man  as  a 
walking  animal,  they  knew  nothing  of  the  Rhythm 
of  Motion.  Obviously  there  is  all  the  difference 
in  the  world  between  the  way  in  which  our  grand- 
mothers learned  to  toddle  about  the  room  and  the 
way  in  which  the  ideal  child  of  to-day  may  learn 
to  place  his  feet  so  as  to  Relate  himself  to  Exist- 
ence, to  the  Significance  of  Things,  and  to  the  Ut- 
terance of  Joy  in  one's  Self. 

Why,  what  could  be  simpler,  at  first  sight,  than 
for  a  mother  to  recognize  her  own  offspring?  Yet 
one  of  Polly's  friends,  the  young  woman  in  fact 
who  inducted  her  into  the  upside-down  professions, 
had  written  a  book  entitled,  "  How  to  Know  Your 
Own  Child."  And  a  useful  book  it  was,  too. 
People,  for  the  sake  of  getting  their  money's  worth, 
will  undergo  extraordinary  hardships.  A  great 
many  mothers,  having  paid  $1.30  net  for  "How 
to  Know  Your  Own  Child,"  set  themselves  to  get 
the  value  of  their  money  or  else  to  prove  that  the 
author  did  not  know  what  she  was  talking  about. 


Art  of  Life  101 

And  so  they  learned.  They  did  not  discover  any- 
thing new  about  their  children  but  they  found  out 
a  good  many  things  they  had  forgotten. 

Sometimes  Polly's  New  England  ancestors  bestir 
themselves  and  suggest  that  the  business  of  teach- 
ing Spontaneous  Self-expression  in  a  studio  is  hum- 
bug. 

But  it  is  not  so.  Polly  gives  value  for  cash  re- 
ceived. What  she  does  is  to  take  timid  girls  and 
diffident  motherly  women,  endowed  with  no  par- 
ticular gift  of  beauty  or  grace  or  spirit — and  all  the 
more  timid  and  lonely  in  the  knowledge  of  that — 
Polly  takes  these  shy,  yearning  women  and  puts 
them  into  cheesecloth  veilings  that  go  by  the  name 
of  Greek  draperies.  They  remove  their  shoes  and 
loosen  their  hair  and  do  any  number  of  ridiculous 
and  helpful  things, — a  bit  of  calisthenics,  or  a  few 
moments  of  rhythmic  breathing,  or  if  the  spirit 
moves  them,  they  break  into  a  few  semi-orgiastic 
steps  to  the  music  of  Debussy,  or  they  may  pick  up 
a  sonnet  of  Shakespeare's  or  a  piece  of  verse  by 
Robert  Frost  and  dance  its  meaning  as  they  feel  it. 
Polly  does  not  force  the  pace.  She  lets  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  studio  wrap  itself  about  her  disciples. 
Some  of  her  pupils  have  attained  freedom  and  self- 
expression  by  putting  on  a  green  robe,  sitting  on 


IO2        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

the  floor,  and  chanting  Walt  Whitman  in  a  dim 
light. 

Thus  the  years,  in  goodly  number,  have  passed 
for  Polly,  and  she  has  grown  perceptibly  gray  and 
more  heavily  dependent  on  the  friendship  of  young 
people,  and  progressively  susceptible  to  Oriental 
thought  by  way  of  Los  Angeles  and  Boston.  This 
exposes  her  to  the  brutal  jeers  of  young  materialists 
like  Winifred,  who  nevertheless  are  exceedingly 
fond  of  her  and  have  made  a  system  of  breaking 
in  on  her  lonely  housekeeping — uncooked  cereals 
largely,  in  one  corner  of  the  studio  behind  a  screen. 
Winifred's  mannish  gaiety  is  welcomed.  For  Polly 
has  her  moments  of  doubt  when  Greek  costumery 
and  barefoot  dancing  and  the  mystic  vocabulary  of 
the  Orient  are  like  sawdust  in  the  mouth.  Every 
little  while  she  drops  from  the  Buddhistic  termin- 
ology that  goes  with  Spontaneous  Self-expression 
into  straight  Michigan  and  becomes  a  wistful  little 
woman  of  the  kind  our  grandmothers  knew;  espe- 
cially when  she  is  tired  after  a  long  afternoon  of 
private  pupils  in  her  studio. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  PILGRIM 

Now,  as  Latimer  stood  at  the  guide-post  and 
pondered  whether  he  should  hold  to  the  highway 
or  follow  the  dirt  road  which  ran  off  at  right 
angles,  to  lose  itself  immediately  around  the  edge 
of  a  pine  grove,  there  came  from  that  quarter  a 
sharp  cry  of  pain  in  a  woman's  tones,  and  the  rasp 
of  grinding  metal  like  a  brake  suddenly  released. 
The  clatter  of  machinery  and  the  outcry  could 
mean  only  one  thing. 

Latimer  ran  forward.  It  was  as  he  supposed. 
A  young  woman  was  leaning,  white-faced,  against 
the  hood  of  a  disreputable  automobile,  clasping  her 
right  wrist  to  press  back  the  pain  with  which  her 
face  was  twitching. 

"  Are  you  badly  hurt  ?  "  cried  Latimer. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  drop  fifty  years  from 
his  shoulders  and  to  kick  out  savagely  at  the  crank- 
handle  which  had  done  the  mischief,  and  now,  in 
utter  lack  of  conscience,  hung  there  with  the  most 
innocent  face  in  the  world.  Latimer  almost  ex- 

103 


104        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

pected  it  to  begin  wagging  pleasantly,  like  the  tail 
of  a  dog  who  has  tumbled  you  into  the  gutter  with 
the  very  best  intentions. 

As  it  happened,  Latimer's  commonplace  inquiry 
was  the  very  best  procedure  he  could  have  adopted. 
The  white  face  quivered;  there  was  a  gush  of  tears 
and  a  violent  outbreak  of  sobbing.  It  was  exactly 
like  a  child  who  manages  to  hold  a  rein  on  his 
sorrow  until  a  word  of  sympathy  opens  the  flood- 
gates. She  was  not  much  more  than  a  child,  and 
the  pain  seemed  to  depart  as  quickly  as  it  had  come, 
under  the  ministration  of  tears.  She  let  her  right 
arm  hang  limp  and  with  the  other  hand  dried  her 
eyes.  Having  done  so,  she  stood  upright  and 
unashamed  and  smiled  at  Latimer. 

"  I  am  much  better,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I 
could  be  home  in  a  few  minutes  if  only  I  can  get 
the  old  thing  going." 

"  Let  me  try  it,"  said  Latimer. 

"  Take  care.  It's  vicious,"  she  replied.  "  Father 
has  been  wanting  to  destroy  it,  and  he  will  this 
time  if  he  finds  out.  But  we  can't  afford  it." 

In  the  interest  of  public  morals  that  automobile 
should  have  been  suppressed. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  ignoble  old  age.  One 
is  decrepit,  leery,  tottering  to  the  grave.  It  is  the 


The  Pilgrim  10$ 

kind  which  moralists  can  use  as  a  warning  and  a 
text.  The  other  is  the  infinitely  more  dangerous 
kind.  It  reveals  a  sound  constitution  beneath  the 
rags  and  defilement.  It  cannot  be  used  as  a  text, 
for  it  works  the  other  way.  It  seems  to  show  that 
a  man  may  drink,  loaf,  and  otherwise  transgress, 
and  yet  keep  going  physically.  That  is  the  kind 
of  old  age  which  comes  to  Ford  machines  converted 
to  industrial  uses  in  the  country. 

The  car  Latimer  was  now  trying  to  crank  up 
was  streaked  with  red  rust  and  thick  with  mud. 
Wherever  there  was  iron-work  to  bend  it  was  bent, 
twisted,  wrinkled.  Where  there  was  wood-work  to 
chip  and  flake,  it  had  done  so.  True,  a  wagon- 
body,  affixed  to  the  chassis,  supplied  an  element  of 
respectability,  but  it  could  not  overcome  the  impres- 
sion of  the  dissolute  forward  part  of  the  car.  It 
was  like  a  staid  citizen  tooling  along  arm-in-arm 
with  the  village  drunkard. 

Nevertheless  the  condition  of  the  machine  carried 
no  imputation  on  the  character  of  its  owners.  It 
is  simply  an  unwritten  law  of  nature  that  a  pas- 
senger Ford  turned  to  business  uses  should  look  like 
a  hoodlum. 

Twice  Latimer  leaped  back  to  escape  injury  from 
the  crank-handle.  His  right  arm  was  a  torture,  but 


io6        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

he  would  have  perished  sooner  than  acknowledge 
defeat  at  the  hands  of  that  obscene  vehicle.  The 
girl  would  have  made  him  desist  but  for  her  father's 
threat.  Nevertheless,  after  ten  minutes  of  inef- 
fectual effort  she  was  about  to  say  that  it  was 
enough,  when  the  spark  caught  and  the  ancient 
reprobate  started  into  life. 

"  You  cannot  drive  with  your  injured  hand," 
said  Latimer,  "and  though  my  experience  is  lim- 
ited, it  may  suffice." 

He  helped  her  into  the  car,  rearranged  the  market- 
baskets  in  the  wagon  behind,  and  set  off  at  a  con- 
servative six  miles  an  hour.  The  girl  sat  silent 
while  he  steered  with  a  degree  of  caution  which  at 
once  revealed  his  amateur  standing.  He  passed 
a  hay-wagon  going  in  the  same  direction  with  an 
anxious  blast  on  the  horn  which  evoked  derision 
from  the  driver.  He  gave  the  signal  again  before 
taking  an  extremely  shallow  curve  in  the  road,  and 
rounded  the  promontory  like  a  transatlantic  liner 
making  dock. 

"  My  manner  at  the  wheel  is  riot  impressive,  but 
it  is  sound,"  he  observed. 

She  laughed  aloud,  then  blushed,  begged  his 
pardon  mutely,  and  took  refuge  in  conver- 
sation. 


The  Pilgrim  107 

"  You  are  not  staying  up  at  the  big  house?  "  she 
asked. 

"What  big  house?" 

"Only  a  little  way  down  the  main  road;  the 
Grimsby's;  ever  so  many  people  are  always  visiting 
there." 

"What  kind  of  people?" 

"  Queer  people,"  she  replied. 

"Then  I  must  look  them  up,"  he  said;  but  she 
missed  his  mild  satire. 

"  We  are  from  New  York,"  she  said.  "  We've 
been  here  three  years.  I  love  it  now.  Father 
says  the  same,  but  I  think  it's  harder  for  him. 
It  was  such  a  change  after  all  the  years  of  night 
work." 

Night  work,  thought  Latimer.  Was  this  a  pa- 
trolman's daughter? 

"  Father  was  a  newspaper  man," — and  there  was 
a  lift  of  pride  in  her  chin  and  eyes.  "  Perhaps 
you've  heard  of  him — Manning,  of  the  Star.  He 
will  be  glad  to  know  you.  You'll  stay  for  supper, 
won't  you?  " 

"  Assuredly  I  will,"  he  said.  "  Are  you  making 
a  success  of  farming?  " 

"  We've  done  pretty  well,  considering  it's  only 
our  third  summer." 


io8        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

"  I  should  say  that  was  doing  well.  If  you  make 
money  on  a  farm  before  half  a  dozen  years — " 

"  Well,  not  making  money,"  she  said.  "  But  we 
come  out  even,  with  what  father  does  for  the 
magazines." 

Suddenly  Latimer  said, — 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  impertinent,  but  why  should  a 
man  of  your  years  give  up  a  fascinating  profession 
to  come  out  to  this  ?  " 

Manning  looked  up  quickly,  turned  away,  and 
puffed  steadily  at  his  pipe.  He  was  hesitating  be- 
tween a  straightforward  answer  and  frivolity. 

"  It's  the  regular  thing,  Dr.  Latimer.  When  a 
good  reporter  dies,  he  goes  in  either  for  poultry  or 
fruit." 

"  But  when  does  a  good  reporter  die,  as  you 
call  it?" 

Supper  had  been  brought  in  from  the  kitchen  by 
Margaret,  and  laid,  rural  fashion,  in  its  entirety, 
before  they  sat  down.  Of  the  three,  Latimer  ate  the 
most  heartily,  and  Manning  the  least.  To  him  the 
presence  of  a  visitor  from  the  clangorous  world  he 
had  left  behind  was  a  summons  to  half -suppressed 
aches  and  desires. 

"  The  good  reporter  dies  when  his  soul  is  born," 


The  Pilgrim  109 

said  Manning  gravely.  "  Sooner  or  later  it  comes 
to  most  of  us — the  longing  to  stop  writing  things 
up  and  to  begin  to  understand  them.  Sometimes 
it  comes  all  at  once.  Hits  you  between  the 
eyes." 

"  But  who  should  understand  life  so  well  as  you 
men  whose  business  it  is  to  follow  it  up  day  by 
day?"  queried  Latimer. 

"  That's  just  it,"  laughed  Manning.  "  Day  by 
day,  hour  by  hour,  minute  by  minute.  When  I 
worked  on  a  morning  paper  I  was  a  fiend  on  life 
from  the  First  Edition  to  the  4  A.M.  Metro- 
politan. And  when  I  was  with  the  afternoon  papers 
there  wasn't  very  much  in  life  that  got  away  from 
me  between  8  A.M.  and  4.15  P.M.  I  saw  so  much 
of  life  that,  before  I  had  rushed  one  piece  of  it  up 
the  copy-tube,  another  chunk  would  be  pawing  at 
my  elbow." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Latimer;  "  a  wealth  of  exped- 
ience that  no  other  profession  can  even  suggest." 

But  Manning  was  not  listening.  His  pipe  hung 
cold  in  his  hand  and  his  gaze  traveled  beyond  his 
auditors  into  the  years  of  his  pilgrimage. 

"  I've  been  through  the  mill,"  he  said.  "  Police 
court,  police  headquarters,  magistrate's  court,  city 
hall,  copy  desk,  rewrite,  city  desk,  legislature,  dra- 


no        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

matic,  sport,  legislature  again,  Washington,  manag- 
ing editor,  and  sometimes  '  Fashions  and  Hints  for 
the  Home.'  I've  hobnobbed  with  gangsters  and 
shirtwaist  strikers  and  cabinet  officers  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. The  owner  of  the  paper  on  which  I  grew 
up  was  death  on  stagnation.  He  was  always  punch- 
ing us  up  by  shuffling  us  about,  and  one  week  I 
would  be  rewriting  press  agent's  dope  and  the  next 
I  would  be  flashing  special  correspondence  from 
the  capital." 

"  And  to  every  swift  stimulus  an  immediate  re- 
action, which  is  life,"  said  Latimer.  "  Else  how 
could  you  do  your  work?  " 

"  By  not  reacting  at  all,"  Manning  replied.  "  By 
turning  yourself  into  a  confounded  tabula  rasa,  all 
smeared  over  with  tenement-house  fires  and  cold- 
storage  eggs  and  the  Japanese  peril.  Just  a  machine 
grinding  out  the  machine-made  stuff  that  clutters 
the  news  sheets.  After  a  while  you  sicken  for  a 
breath  of  reality." 

Latimer  waved  him  aside. 

"  You  are  suffering  from  the  professional  fal- 
lacy, the  conviction  held  by  every  doctor,  lawyer, 
preacher,  and  stockbroker  that  his  is  the  one  un- 
kind fate." 

"  It's  not  so  bad  the  first  two  years,"  said  Man- 


The  Pilgrim  in 

nirig,  "  until  you  have  graduated  from  police  and 
the  criminal  courts.  There,  I  admit,  you  touch  on 
what  is  called  life,  though  touch  it  is  about  all  you 
can  do.  The  only  sincere  stuff  in  the  business  is 
crimes  and  accidents.  A  man  doesn't  usually  shoot 
his  wife  for  publication,  or  fall  under  a  motor- 
truck with  his  photograph  ready  for  64-screen  re- 
production. Everything  beyond  that  is  just  formula 
and  make-believe,  acting  and  speaking  for  publica- 
tion— politicians  this  way,  and  strike-leaders  that 
way,  and  woman  suffragists  their  own  way.  We 
are  the  family  photographers  of  the  world,  and  peo- 
ple come  to  us  in  their  Sunday  clothes.  If  they 
didn't  we'd  retouch  them  anyhow;  make  them, 
every  one, — gangsters,  society  leaders,  shop-girls, 
Secretaries  of  State, — say  what  we  want  them  to 
say;  which  is  what  they  want  us  to  make  them  say. 
How  many  stories  have  you  read  of  the  Yale- 
Harvard  football  game?  " 

"  Ever  so  many;  and  excellent  bits  of  writing 
they  usually  are." 

"  Rubber-stamp,"  said  Manning.  "  The  news- 
paper profession  is  just  one  big  Harvard- Yale 
story,  the  most  interesting  parts  of  which,  except 
as  to  who  won  the  game,  are  written  several  hours 
before  the  game.  In  all  Yale-Harvard  games,  you 


112        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

will  recall,  the  railroad  terminals  in  New  York  are 
jammed  with  pretty  girls  in  furs  and  crimson  or 
blue;  the  roads  to  New  Haven  swarm  with  high- 
priced  automobiles;  the  ticket-speculators  offer  tick- 
ets at  twenty- five  dollars  a  pair;  the  Yale  Bowl 
is  one  mass  of  color;  the  rival  stands  challenge 
each  other  in  song;  there  is  a  nip  in  the  air  which 
is  just  right  for  football;  the  hotels  in  New  York 
are  crowded  with  jubilant  bettors  after  the  game; 
the  beaten  team  goes  home  greatly  cast  down — 
all  this  happens  in  the  newspaper  offices  twenty- 
four  hours  before  the  referee's  whistle.  It  may  all 
turn  out  to  be  true;  it  probably  will  be  true;  foot- 
ball games  have  always  been  like  that  in  the  papers. 
A  police  parade  always  elicits  cheers  for  the  fine 
body  of  men  that  goes  swinging  up  Fifth  Avenue. 
A  fire  always  '  mushrooms.'  When  a  national  con- 
vention starts  to  cheer,  the  reporters  pull  out  their 
watches — and  the  shouters  know  that  they  are  being 
timed  and  act  accordingly." 

"  That  is  a  serious  charge  to  bring  against  your 
own  trade — it  is  falsification,"  said  Latimer. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Manning.  "  Just  a  time-saving 
device  without  which  the  business  couldn't  go  on. 
Suppose  you  were  managing  editor,  and  the  biggest 
story  you  can  think  of  broke  upon  you — "  He 


The  Pilgrim  113 

stopped  and  searched.  "  What  is  the  biggest  piece 
of  news  you  can  imagine,  Dr.  Latimer? " 

The  other  man  examined  the  ceiling. 

"  Well,  say  an  authenticated  case  of  the  per- 
sistence of  life  after  death,"  he  ventured. 

"  Bully !  "  cried  Manning.  His  eyes  sparkled, 
the  color  mounted  to  his  forehead  and  his  ringers 
twitched — was  it  for  the  missing  pencil  and  copy- 
paper  ?  Then  he  found  himself.  "  Suppose  you 
were  in  charge  and  that  flash  came  over  from  the 
Associated  Press.  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  should  probably  develop  a  violent  headache," 
said  Latimer. 

"  Here's  what  you'd  do,  Dr.  Latimer.  You'd  yell 
up  the  tube  to  the  make-up  man  to  tear  open  the 
first  page  for  a  seven-column  double-ribbon  head. 
You'd  then  get  the  telegraph  editor  to  write  that 
head :  'Life  Holds  Beyond  Grave  Says  French 
Savant.'  You'd  then  turn  loose  several  men  on  the 
Encyclopaedia  Britannica  looking  up  opinions  on 
immortality  by  Plato,  Solomon,  Lucretius,  Thomas 
a  Kempis,  Mme.  Blavatsky,  and  Huxley.  You'd 
have  the  city  room  get  all  the  local  clergymen  on 
the  wire.  You'd  telegraph  to  President  Wilson, 
Billy  Sunday,  President  Eliot,  Anna  Howard  Shaw, 
Henry  Ford,  Mary  Pickford,  the  Pope,  the  Sultan, 


114        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

and  the  Chief  Rabbi  of  Petrograd.  You'd  have 
your  Wall  Street  men  interview  Mr.  Morgan  as 
to  the  probable  effect  of  immortality  on  the  Stock 
Exchange.  You'd  ask  the  presidents  of  the  in- 
surance companies  how  immortality  would  affect 
their  special  business.  Next  day  there  would  be 
follow-up  stories  with  reproductions  of  the  most 
famous  paintings  of  the  Resurrection.  By  the  end 
of  the  week  your  hair  would  be  slightly  grayer,  and 
if  anybody  mentioned  immortality  to  you,  you'd 
bite  him.  Next  week  something  would  break  loose 
in  Mexico." 

"  Let  it  come,  who  carey?  "  cried  Latimer  bring- 
ing his  fist  down  on  the  table.  In  his  mind  he  was 
tearing  open  front  pages  and  writing  ribbon  heads. 

Manning  laughed.  "  Take  the  ten  years  I  held 
down  the  managing  editor's  desk  on  the  Star,"  he 
said.  "  From  1904  to  1914.  For  sheer  dramatic 
interest  there  have  been  no  other  ten  years  to  ap- 
proach them." 

"  1789  to  1799?"  mused  Latimer.  "  Austerlitz 
to  Waterloo?  Well,  perhaps  not." 

"  I  said  dramatic,  not  significant,"  declared  Man- 
ning. "  From  the  standpoint  of  news-value  there 
has  been  nothing  like  these  ten  years.  Things  that 
happen  once  in  a  hundred  years,  in  five  hundred 


The  Pilgrim  115 

years,  in  five  thousand  years,  things  that  can  happen 
only  once  and  never  again — they  all  happened  in 
that  marvelous  decade.  It's  been  seven-column 
heads  week  after  week  almost.  In  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  years  no  President  of  the  United  States 
has  been  elected  without  the  vote  of  the  East. 
Woodrow  Wilson  turns  the  trick — though  that  was 
two  years  after  I  quit.  For  five  thousand  years 
China  has  been  asleep.  She  wakes  up  in  1913,  climbs 
out  of  bed,  and  sets  up  a  republic.  The  mastery  of 
the  air  can  be  achieved  only  once;  the  Wright 
brothers  do  it.  The  North  Pole  can  be  discovered 
only  once;  Peary  nails  it,  and  in  connection  there- 
with the  biggest  hoax  in  history — Cook;  and  for 
good  measure  Amundsen  throws  in  the  South  Pole. 
The  biggest  earthquake  in  history:  Messina.  The 
biggest  marine  disaster:  Titanic.  And  that's  omit- 
ting second-class  matter  like  a  Turkish  revolution, 
or  a  parliament  for  Russia,  or  England  muzzling 
the  House  of  Lords,  or  Carnegie  giving  away  half 
a  billion  dollars.  It's  history  gone  crazy — that's 
what  it  was  those  ten  years." 

"  Manning,"  said  Latimer  all  at  once,  "  did  you 
ever  study  for  the  ministry?  " 

Manning  looked  at  him  open-mouthed. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  " 


n6        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

"A  mere  conjecture";  and  Latimer  smiled.  "I 
was  really  going  to  say  that  you  are  to  be  con- 
gratulated on  having  played  the  historian  to  a  re- 
markable epoch." 

"Historian  nothing!"  shouted  Manning.  "A 
blanked  old  dictograph — that's  what  I  was."  He 
pulled  himself  in.  "  Professionally  I  had  just  one 
gorgeous  time.  There  wasn't  a  wad  of  display  type 
in  the  shop  I  didn't  have  a  chance  to  shove  into  the 
paper  every  other  week.  But  the  individual, — 
Manning, — what  of  him  ?  His  soul  was  starved  for 
the  lack  of  a  little  leisure  to  interpret  the  signifi- 
cance of  his  own  headlines.  A  bloated  megaphone 
through  whom  the  march  of  evolution  kept  shout- 
ing the  most  astounding  news  to  Constant  Reader. 
For  you,  Dr.  Latimer,  the  loss  of  the  Titanic  never 
brought  up  the  problem  of  what  to  do  with  the  dry- 
goods  ad  on  the  third  page." 

"  Such  problems  are  a  stimulus  in  themselves," 
said  Latimer. 

"  Stimulus  is  right.  Ten  years'  steady  diet  of 
caviar  and  red-hot  curry,  until  your  palate  goes 
dead,  the  gastric  juices  dry  up,  and  you  open  your 
mouth  like  a  frog  under  the  electric  needle.  Asia 
meets  Europe  in  battle  and  cleans  up :  '  Japs 
Smash  Russ  Line.'  The  dawn  of  liberty  breaks 


The  Pilgrim  117 

in  Russia:  'Duma  Flays  Czar's  Pact.'  The 
Islamic  world  breaks  open  with  a  loud  report: 
'  Abdul  Flees  Golden  Horn.'  I  say  it  in  all 
reverence,  Dr.  Latimer,  but  if  I  had  been  running 
a  paper  at  the  time  of  the  Crucifixion — you  know 
how  I  would  have  written  its  history,  as  you 
call  it." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  altogether  too  hard 
on  yourself,"  said  Latimer.  "  How  many  of  us 
who  are  not  in  the  newspaper  business,  and  who 
have  lived  through  these  ten  wonderful  years,  have 
really  responded  to  them  ?  You  know  those  young 
fools  who  write  for  the  radical  magazines.  They 
are  always  clamoring  for  the  great  Art  that  only 
life  in  its  intense  moments  can  produce.  But  what 
have  our  poets,  painters,  and  musicians  produced 
during  these  feverish  ten  years?  So  far  as  I  can 
see,  centuries  have  died  since  1905  and  the  history 
of  coming  centuries  has  been  born,  and  about  all 
we  can  show  for  it  is  the  extraordinary  develop- 
ment of  the  moving-picture  theatre.  Be  fair  to 
yourself." 

Manning  shook  his  head. 

"  It  wasn't  a  question  of  reasoning  things  out. 
The  thing  simply  grew  unbearable.  And  then  came 
the  war." 


n8        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  To  be  sure ! "  cried  Latimer,  leaning  forward 
across  the  table.  "  Yes?  " 

"  I  quit,"  said  Manning. 

"  But  that's  incredible.  The  biggest  story  of 
your  career,  as  you  would  call  it.  Quit  ?  " 

Manning  stared  out  into  the  dark  wistfully. 

"  I  didn't  put  in  much  sleep  during  that  first  night 
of  the  war.  I  planned  my  campaign.  Special  cor- 
respondents, photographers,  contracts  for  the  Lon- 
don Times  dispatches,  the  Matin  service,  the  Novoye 
Vremya,  Washington;  reorganizing  the  staff;  half 
the  fellows  in  the  city  room  would  have  to  be  fired 
— it  would  be  nothing  but  war  news — and  the  price 
of  white  paper! — You  have  said  it,  Dr.  Latimer. 
It  was  the  biggest  job  I  had  ever  faced,  the  biggest 
newspaper  opportunity  since  newspapers  were  in- 
vented. What  copy,  my  God,  what  copy!  what 
headlines !  A  thousand  years  thrown  into  the  stere- 
otyper's  cauldron  and  coming  out  fat,  new  metal 
— "  Russ  Army  Enters  Constantinople  " ;  "  French 
Crush  Teuton  Host";  "Kaiser  Holds  India,"— 
that's  what  was  ahead  of  me. 

"  And  then  all  at  once  things  turned  sour  in  the 
mouth.  My  soul,  I  said  to  myself,  what  will 
happen  to  the  soul  of  John  B.  Manning?  Was  it 
to  go  through  the  same  dizzy  dance  through  this 


The  Pilgrim  119 

biggest  thing  ever?  And  I  knew  that  if  I  held  out 
another  day,  the  game  would  get  me  and  there 
would  never  be  another  chance  to  stand  aside,  to 
try  to  understand.  So  I  rang  up  the  old  man  and 
resigned.  In  just  a  fortnight  Margaret  and  I  were 
down  here.  Thus  you  find  me :  *  Noted  Scribe 
Tends  Chicks.' " 

He  laughed,  but  it  was  not  a  success.  Margaret 
rose,  walked  to  her  father,  and  put  her  arms 
around  him. 

Latimer's  eyes  smiled  at  them,  but  his  thoughts 
were  not  on  the  immediate  scene.  Manning's  last 
words  came  to  him  dimly;  but  there  was  no  need 
for  climax,  exordium,  or  "  Finis "  to  the  man's 
story.  Latimer  knew  him  for  a  fellow  rebel  and 
pilgrim;  rebel  against  the  doctrine  and  rule  of 
formula,  and  pilgrim  in  search  of  the  answer. 
Had  he  found  it?  No,  to  judge  from  Manning's 
self-directed  irony,  and  from  the  longings  which 
reechoed  through  his  story  for  the  din  and  whirl 
and  grime  of  the  newspaper  office.  Well,  then, 
was  there  any  likelihood  of  his,  Latimer's,  faring 
any  better?  The  accumulating  peace  of  his  first 
day  out  of  doors  fell  from  him.  He  was  once 
more  adrift.  "  Brother,"  he  addressed  Manning 
silently,  "  you  and  I  are  in  a  parlous  state." 


I2O        Professor  Latimer' s  Progress 

Immediately  came  the  rebound.  No!  Was  it 
not  a  splendid  thing,  rather,  that  Manning's  soul 
should  have  found  him  out  at  his  desk,  over  the 
make-up  table,  in  the  midst  of  his  headlines  and 
formulas?  Was  not  the  answer  implicit  in  the 
question,  the  goal  in  the  search?  A  subtle,  ironic, 
pitying  God  had  pretended  to  formulate  a  curse  in 
Eden,  and  had  concealed  a  blessing.  Labor  and 
Discontent;  Labor  to  feed  the  body  and  Discontent 
to  keep  the  soul  alive.  When  Manning  was  grind- 
ing out  his  Extra-Special  editions,  he  did  well;  and 
when  he  kicked  out  against  it  all,  it  was  well;  and 
now  that  he  was  searching,  it  was  well. 

"And  you  are  happy?"  Latimer  heard  himself 
saying. 

Manning  was  playing  with  Margaret's  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

"  Yes." 

"  Restless  sometimes?  " 

«  Urn—" 

Margaret  cautioned  Latimer  from  behind  her 
father's  chair. 

"  And  all  the  time  you  want  for  thinking?  "  said 
Latimer  cheerily. 

"  Too  much.  More  than  is  fair  to  this  little  girl. 
She  does  the  heavy  work  while  I  consult  my  soul." 


The  Pilgrim  121 

"  You  know  it  isn't  so,  father." 

"  No  ?  Well,  perhaps  I  earn  my  keep.  It  was 
rather  hard  work  at  first,  after  twelve  years  on  a 
morning  paper,  adapting  yourself  to  the  poultry 
routine.  The  hours  were  so  different." 

"  The  dishes,"  cried  Margaret.  "  Oh,  my  hot 
water ! "  And  she  bolted  into  the  kitchen. 

Manning  got  to  his  feet. 

"  That  is  a  task  I  share  in;  if  you  will  excuse  me, 
Dr.  Latimer." 

"  But  you  must  let  me  pay  for  my  supper  by 
helping  out." 

"  There  is  no  need." 

"  I  insist." 

"  Selah,"  said  Manning.  "  The  kitchen  is  nine 
by  eight,  but  by  careful  juxtaposition  we  ought 
not  to  be  too  much  in  each  other's  way." 

Latimer  followed  him  out  into  the  kitchen. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  LADY  WHO  HIRED  A  HALL 

"  DR.  LATIMER,"  said  Manning,  as  he  put  a  fresh 
towel  to  a  wet  plate,  "  how  do  you  think  God  is 
coming  out  of  this  war?" 

But  at  that  moment  a  refined  hurricane  swept 
through  the  dining-room  in  the  shape  of  a  lady  in 
white  crepe,  who  swung  a  green  parasol  cane- 
fashion,  though  it  was  well  past  sunset.  And  out 
of  the  heart  of  the  storm  came  a  voice,  high- 
pitched,  insolently  negligent  of  final  consonants, 
and  to  Latimer  suddenly  pungent  of  uptown  New 
York,  calling,  "  Margaret,  O  Margaret,  where  are 
you,  dear?  I  have  such  good  news." 

"  Mrs.  Jamieson,"  said  Margaret  quietly,  and 
smiled  as  she  went  to  greet  her  visitor. 

They  met  on  the  threshold.  Framed  in  the 
kitchen  doorway,  Mrs.  Jamieson  lived  up  accurately 
to  the  promise  of  her  voice.  Externally,  at  least, 
she  was  of  her  class,  thought  Latimer.  That  is  to 
say,  being  a  woman  of  nearly  forty,  she  dressed 
like  a  girl  of  twenty-two,  without  going  to  the 


123 


The  Lady  Who  Hired  a  Hall       123 

vulgar  excess  of  dressing  like  a  girl  of  eighteen. 
The  same  touch  of  successful  daring  showed  in  the 
skilful  details  of  facial  make-up.  Latimer  saw  the 
youthful  play  of  a  pair  of  intelligent  gray  eyes 
under  sufficiently  penciled  brows,  an  elaborate  coif- 
fure, an  alert,  slender  figure.  Smart,  thought  Lati- 
mer with  approval,  and  clever. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Jamieson. 

"  We  have  with  us  to-night  Dr.  Latimer,"  Man- 
ning announced.  "  His  services  in  the  kitchen  are 
only  temporary.  Mrs.  Jamieson,  a  member  of  the 
fairly  idle  rich." 

"  How  d'  ye  do  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jamieson.  She 
acknowledged  Latimer 's  bow  with  fashionable  curt- 
ness,  and  sat  daintily  on  a  chair  that  Margaret 
placed  for  her  just  on  the  other  side  of  the  door- 
sill  ;  but  not  until  she  had  kissed  the  girl.  "  My 
dear,  it  is  almost  too  good  to  be  true,  but  I  really 
think  I  have  got  rid  of  it." 

"  Not  the  Auditorium  ?  "  said  Margaret. 

"Just  that,"  replied  the  visitor  exultantly. 

Let  us  sum  up  Mrs.  Jamieson  in  a  few  words. 
If  she  was,  by  birth  and  marriage,  committed  to 
great  wealth,  she  had  done  something  to  escape  her 
fate.  It  is  unfortunate  that  a  woman  of  society 
cannot  try  to  make  herself  useful  without  eliciting 


124        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

the  cheap  satirist's  sneer  about  fashionable  charity. 
It  is  a  pity  that  she  cannot  sincerely  feel  the  beat 
of  modern  life  without  incurring  the  suspicion  of 
being  just  in  the  swim.  Mrs.  Jamieson  had  her 
box  at  the  opera,  but  her  preferences  were  for  the 
noisy  young  impressionists.  In  literature  she  liked 
the  younger  Russians,  and  if  she  failed  to  recog- 
nize that  Artzibasheff  was  only  a  caricature  of  the 
earlier  giants,  more  pretentious  critics  than  Mrs. 
Jamieson  have  sinned  in  the  same  manner.  She 
mothered  a  young  Irish  poet,  peddled  his  manu- 
scripts among  the  publishers,  and  was  suspected  of 
paying  out  of  her  pocket  for  his  first  volume.  She 
had  energy  and  a  good  heart.  She  had  made  a  bid 
for  economic  independence  by  establishing  suc- 
cessively, but  not  successfully,  a  cigarette  factory, 
a  shop  for  the  manufacture  of  grotesque  sculptures, 
and  a  modern  laundry. 

She  found  her  true  sphere  in  war-relief  work. 
She  raised  extraordinary  sums  of  money  for  the 
Belgians  and  the  Serbs,  by  working  herself  very 
hard,  blackmailing  her  friends,  and  reducing  all  the 
young  women  of  her  acquaintance  to  a  state  of 
involuntary  servitude  as  flower  girls,  programme 
girls,  and  booth  pirates  at  her  bazaars.  But  she 
also  had  her  own  views  as  to  the  issues  of  the  war. 


The  Lady  Who  Hired  a  Hall      125 

Before  we  entered  the  conflict,  she  was  bitter  at 
Mr.  Wilson's  lukewarm  support  of  the  Allies.  To 
whip  up  sentiment  she  planned  a  great  public  dem- 
onstration and  to  that  end  she  hired  the  Auditorium 
with  her  own  pin-money. 

"  Dr.  Latimer,  do  you  know  any  one  who  could 
use  a  hall  ?  "  said  Manning.  "  Thirty-five  hundred 
seats,  free  lights,  usher  service,  printed  tickets, 
everything." 

"If  you  don't  mind,  it's  all  settled,"  shrilled 
Mrs.  Jamieson,  pointing  a  triumphant  green  parasol 
at  Manning.  "  It  was  this  way,  Dr.  Latimer.  I 
counted  upon  a  lot  of  speakers  for  my  meeting. 
Well,  at  bottom  all  men  are  cowards.  Several  of 
them  refused  to  participate  in  any  attempt  to  put 
pressure  on  the  government  in  favor  of  the  Allies. 
And  the  rest  said  they  wouldn't  lift  a  finger  to  help 
Germany.  It  was  too  disgusting.  Then  the  news- 
papers got  hold  of  it  and  all  my  vice-presidents 
resigned.  Next,  my  girls  said  they  hadn't  recov- 
ered from  my  last  bazaar.  I  spent  two  weeks  on 
the  telephone  trying  to  save  that  meeting,  until 
Harmon — " 

"Mr.  Jamieson?"  said  Latimer. 

"  Exactly.  Harmon  insisted  that  I  call  it  off 
and  go  away  for  a  long  rest.  So  here  I  am." 


126        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  I  am  exceedingly  sorry,"  said  Latimer. 

"  But  I  didn't  give  in,"  said  the  audacious  lady. 
"  Of  course,  I  wouldn't  dream  of  asking  the  Audi- 
torium people  to  give  me  back  my  money,  but  they 
gave  me  two  postponements.  I  spent  two  weeks, 
before  I  left  town,  trying  to  give  the  hall  away; 
it  was  hopeless." 

"  In  a  city  like  New  York,  where  the  public  is 
always  being  rallied  and  appealed  to,  it  is  very 
strange,"  said  Latimer. 

"  The  trouble  is,  it's  such  a  big  hall.  Once  I 
nearly  got  rid  of  it  to  the  Community  Folk-Dance 
Association.  They  kept  it  a  week  and  found  they 
had  disposed  of  only  two  hundred  and  thirty-five 
tickets.  So  they  threw  it  back  on  me.  They  said 
it  was  too  far  uptown  for  a  Community  audience." 

"  One  might  advertise,"  said  Latimer. 

"  And  make  a  show  of  myself  ?  No.  I  was  just 
having  tea  with  Lucille  Snedeker  when  the  Com- 
munity people  wrote  returning  the  hall.  I  don't 
know  what  made  me  tell  her.  Lucille  had  an  in- 
spiration. She  said  she  had  a  young  Armenian 
dancer  who  was  a  genius  and  only  needed  an  intro- 
duction to  the  American  public.  I  should  have 
known  better.  Lucille  is  a  fool.  She  is  always 
picking  up  young  geniuses  in  the  queerest  eating- 


The  Lady  Who  Hired  a  Hall      127 

places  you  can  imagine.  Lucille  said  the  Armenian 
would  need  an  orchestra  and  I  agreed  to  pay  for 
it.  In  two  days  it  was  all  over.  The  Armenian 
took  one  look  at  the  place  and  said  she  would  never 
consent  to  make  her  debut  in  such  a  barn.  It  would 
be  a  crime  against  her  art." 

"And  yet,"  said  Latimer,  "the  theatre  of 
Dionysus  at  Athens  was  a  sizable  place." 

"  Things  looked  desperate,"  said  Mrs.  Jamieson. 
"  For  weeks  after  I  came  down  here  I  wrote  to 
everybody  I  could  think  of.  I  offered  the  hall  to 
the  Juvenile  Delinquency  Society,  but  they  had 
other  plans.  I  suggested  to  the  Fire  Department 
that  they  might  use  it  for  an  exhibition  drill,  and 
they  said  that  something  in  the  City  charter  pro- 
hibited their  accepting  gratuities  from  a  private 
person.  And,  Dr.  Latimer,  it's  ridiculous  the  way 
people  have  gone  crazy  about  the  war.  The  Society 
for  the  Extension  of  Port  Terminal  Facilities 
wrote,  thanking  me  for  the  offer,  but  regretting 
their  inability  to  accept  a  favor  from  a  person  of 
such  well-known  pro-Ally  sympathies.  It  was  too 
disgusting.  And  then  all  at  once,  Margaret,  I 
thought  of  something." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  the  girl  from  her  pile  of  wet 
plates. 


128        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  There  is  a  big  strike  on  in  one  of  Mr.  Jamieson's 
factories.  I  read  about  it  in  the  papers.  I  wrote 
to  the  union  leaders  offering  them  the  hall." 

"And  your  husband  doesn't  mind?"  said 
Latimer. 

"  Harmon  mind  ?  He  is  the  most  generous  soul 
alive,  and  he  has  been  so  worried  about  me.  Well, 
those  strike  people  are  willing  to  take  the  hall,  but 
they  insist  that  I  pay  for  the  newspaper  advertis- 
ing and  the  posters.  They  sent  me  a  specimen 
notice  which  they  expect  to  print.  Their  descrip- 
tion of  Harmon  is  positively  shameful.  But  I 
think  I'll  let  them  have  it.  If  this  keeps  up  another 
week  I  shall  break  down." 

She  rose  impetuously. 

"  I  shall  be  horribly  late  for  dinner.  Good-by, 
dearest."  She  kissed  the  girl,  nodded  to  the  men, 
and  floated  out. 


CHAPTER  X 
MANNING  INSISTS 

LATIMER  was  thinking,  inconsequentially,  of  Mrs. 
Jamieson  and  the  sick  woman  at  Westville,  when 
Manning's  voice  came  to  him  as  from  afar. 

"  I  had  put  a  question  to  you  when  we  were 
interrupted,  Dr.  Latimer.  How  is  the  war  to  end 
for  God?" 

"  Is  that  what  your  mind  has  been  on  in  the 
intervals  of  the  poultry  business  ?  "  asked  Latimer. 

"  Before  that,"  said  Manning.  "  Of  recent  years 
He  has  been  with  me  pretty  constantly,  and  at  the 
most  inopportune  times.  Between  editions  some- 
times; or  when  I  have  hung  over  the  make-up  table, 
trying  to  beat  the  clock.  Like  a  draught  of  chill 
air  it  would  come — a  hollow,  bitter  doubt.  You 
ask  yourself  suddenly  how  does  this  Final  Extra 
Wall  Street  Complete  relate  itself  to  the  make-up 
of  the  universe  and  its  Maker-Up." 

"  You  have  your  own  answer,  of  course." 

"  The  obvious  one,"  said  Manning.  "  The  war 
has  been  a  disaster  for  Him." 

129 


130        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Father,"  said  Margaret,  "  do  you  call  this  dry- 
ing a  teacup  ?  Take  another  towel  and  do  it  over." 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Manning  humbly;  but  it 
was  some  time  before  he  bestirred  himself  in  search 
of  a  fresh  towel. 

"  Ten  million  dead  is  a  bitter  thing  to  contem- 
plate," said  Latimer.  "  But  after  all  there  was  the 
Black  Death  six  hundred  years  ago,  when  one  third 
of  Europe  perished.  Yet  God  survived." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  don't  get  me,"  said  Manning. 
"  Of  course  He  survived,  just  as  He  will  probably 
survive  this  war;  through  force  of  habit,  through 
the  clutch  of  superstition,  through  the  law  of  illogic 
which  rules  the  common  life.  But  the  question  is, 
ought  He  to  survive?  How  does  He  come  out  of 
this  war  when  tested  by  the  standards  of  reason 
with  which  He  is  supposed  to  have  endowed  us? 
I  have  no  doubt  that  after  the  Black  Plague  there 
were  men  who  asked  the  same  question.  Where 
is  the  answer?  If  ten  million  dead,  if  the  agony 
of  half  the  world — Oh,  well,  I  could  repeat  what's 
been  said  from  the  beginning  of  things.  For  three 
years  evil  has  had  it  all  its  own  way.  How  shall 
we  believe  in  anything  else? — Where  is  that  towel 
you  were  speaking  of,  Margaret?  Counsel  for 
plaintiff  rests  his  case." 


Manning  Insists  131 

Latimer's  eyes  were  upon  Margaret.  If  to  him, 
Latimer,  his  host's  way  with  a  great  topic  was 
somewhat  free  and  easy,  how  about  this  young  girl  ? 
But  Margaret  was  smiling  over  the  hot  water  and 
soap.  Plainly  she  was  hardened  to  Manning's 
vigorous  methods  in  search  of  his  soul. 

"  You've  given  me  a  difficult  case  to  defend," 
said  Latimer.  "  Under  the  circumstances  I  must 
follow  the  precedent  of  all  good  lawyers  when  cor- 
nered. I  must  resort  to  technicalities.  I  begin  by 
questioning  the  validity  of  the  indictment.  I  de- 
mand a  poll  of  the  grand  jury.  Are  you  unani- 
mous ?  " 

"  Speaking  for  myself,  I  am  not,"  said  Manning. 
"  That's  the  tragedy  of  it ;  even  when  we  accuse 
Him,  we  do  it  with  half  a  mind.  But  that  is  be- 
cause of  the  prestige  of  the  defendant.  It  is  like 
a  jury  of  plumbers  and  shoe-clerks  indicting  the 
head  of  the  Railroad  Trust." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Latimer.  "  We  are  too  ready 
to  take  it  for  granted  that  all  men  to-day  are 
weighed  down  by  the  horror  of  war.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  there  is  no  such  unanimity.  We  have  no 
means  of  knowing  how  many  of  the  plain  people 
like  war.  There  must  be  a  great  many;  those  who 
enjoy  the  adventure,  the  release  from  the  monotony 


132         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

of  daily  duties,  and  even,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  those 
who  have  not  outlived  the  primitive  taste  for 
killing. 

"  These  are  the  inarticulate  folk.  There  are  the 
others,  who  like  war  and  can  give  a  reason:  the 
people  who  think  that  war  is  necessary  for  right- 
eousness; or  as  a  tonic  against  race  degeneration. 
Not  to  mention  the  professionals — the  army  and 
navy  officers,  who  may  not  like  war  but  who  cer- 
tainly do  not  condemn  it.  It  is  true  that,  if  you 
made  a  poll  of  newspaper  editors,  you  might  find  a 
great  many  who  think  that  war  is  evil.  But  if  you 
were  to  take  a  census  among  pastors  of  fashionable 
metropolitan  churches — 

"  Well,  then.  As  long  as  you  are  not  unanimous 
in  your  indictment  against  God  it  is  obvious  that 
your  charge  lacks  validity.  Until  you  can  get  Rus- 
sians and  Germans  and  Frenchmen,  ministers  and 
aviators  and  Socialists,  mothers  and  emperors  and 
newspaper  editors  and  clergymen,  to  agree  that  war 
is  an  unmitigated  curse,  your  case  falls  to  the 
ground." 

"  Unmitigated !  "  cried  Manning.  "  That's  just 
it.  You  will  find  very  few  men  who  will  tell  you 
that  war  is  an  unmitigated  evil.  Of  course  there 
are  compensations.  But  what  sort  of  Wisdom  and 


Manning  Insists  133 

Power  is  it  that  can  get  results  only  through  blood 
and  tears?  In  all  reverence  I  ask  whether  it  isn't 
a  Chinese  way  of  ruling  a  world,  to  be  burning  it 
down  every  little  while  for  the  sake  of  a  little  roast 
pork.  Given  an  unlimited  expense  account,  with  no 
questions  asked,  any  one  could  rule  this  universe. 
Give  me  permission  to  cut  up  a  hospital  full  of 
people,  and  there  isn't  any  doubt  but  that  I  can 
pull  off  a  successful  operation  for  appendicitis  now 
and  then — with  a  kitchen  knife.  But  you  would 
hardly  call  me  a  great  surgeon.  Unmitigated !  Of 
course  not.  It  is  undeniable  that  a  millionaire 
paranoiac  cannot  squander  a  fortune  in  the  Ten- 
derloin without  giving  employment  to  a  certain 
number  of  honest  cooks,  carpenters,  and  street- 
cleaners." 

"  Isn't  it  a  question  of  what  you  choose  to  fix 
your  mind  on?"  said  Margaret. 

"  A  very  happy  thought,"  Latimer  beamed  at 
her.  "  Such  as  is  likely  to  come  in  the  restful  occu- 
pation of  dishwashing.  Do  you  know,  Manning, 
considering  how  many  women  for  how  many  years 
have  ruminated  over  the  dish-basin,  it  is  a  wonder 
that  they  have  made  such  small  contribution  to 
philosophy." 

"  So  there  is  no  answer  ?  "  said  Manning. 


134        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Not  if  you  demand  proof  of  a  perfect  God," 
said  Latimer.  "  But  if  it  be  a  question  of  a  God 
moving  toward  perfection  I  can  speak  with  more 
confidence.  And  when  you  ask  me  how  will  He 
come  out  of  this  horror  in  Europe,  I  can  say  that 
He  will  come  out  fairly  well.  Better,  by  compari- 
son, than  men  will  come  out.  This  much  I  am 
convinced  of,  that  God  is  improving  more  rapidly 
than  man." 

"  That  is  something,"  said  Manning. 

The  two  had  given  up  all  pretence  of  making 
themselves  useful  to  the  girl.  Manning  leaned 
against  the  edge  of  the  kitchen  table  and  bit  his 
finger-nails,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Latimer.  The  latter, 
with  an  unfailing  instinct  for  making  himself  com- 
fortable, had  ensconced  himself  in  the  chair  vacated 
by  Mrs.  Jamieson,  his  attention  divided  between 
Manning,  Margaret,  and  the  mass  of  lilac  that  hung 
down  over  the  windows. 

"  Take,"  said  he,  "  the  heathen  and  his  gods,  and 
compare  them  with  yourself  and  your  own  Master 
of  the  Universe.  Then  ask  yourself  which  marks 
the  greater  advance — the  distance  between  you  and 
the  tribesman  of  the  Congo,  or  the  distance  between 
that  black  man's  fetish  and  your  own  Creator.  It 
is  a  matter  only  of  five  or  ten  thousand  years  in 


Manning  Insists  135 

the  history  of  evolution;  yet  certain  results  present 
themselves. 

"  Now  as  between  the  Congo  native  and  your- 
self," Latimer  continued,  "  the  gain  forward  is  on 

• 
the  whole  inconsiderable.    That  is,  so  far  as  human 

essentials  are  concerned.  The  Bantu  tribesman,  for 
instance,  is  as  good  a  father  as  you  are.  In  fact, 
I  have  read  that  among  many  savage  races  the  chil- 
dren are  much  more  fondly  treated  than,  let  us 
say,  a  boy  in  an  upper-class  English  family.  As 
a  husband  the  African  Negro  may  be  a  bit  more 
overbearing  and  a  harder  taskmaster;  although 
here  too  it  is  probable  that  there  is  less  wife-beating 
in  the  Congo  than  there  is  in  Whitechapel.  As  a 
member  of  the  social  organism  he  is  much  more 
loyal  to  his  king  than  even  the  German  peasant, 
much  more  ready  to  sacrifice  his  personal  inclina- 
tions to  the  common  good.  The  sense  of  pity  is 
perhaps  not  so  highly  developed  in  primitive  man; 
this  is,  to  be  sure,  a  reflex  of  his  greater  insensi- 
bility to  pain;  but  admit  that  on  the  whole  he  is 
more  cruel  than  you  are.  Admit  cannibalism  for 
instance;  though  cannibalism  is  bound  up  with  his 
religion  rather  than  with  his  humanity.  And  there 
you  are.  By  these  values,  then,  which  we  use  to 
appraise  a  man  to-day, — not  by  his  accomplish- 


136        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

ments  but  by  his  primal  qualities  as  husband,  father, 
citizen,  comrade,  warrior,  athlete,  and  all-round 
good  fellow, — the  Congo  aborigine  is  not  very  far 
removed  from  you.  It  is  with  reluctance  that  I 
quote  Mr.  Kipling  on  anything  concerned  with  real 
human  values,  but  after  all,  '  You're  a  better  man 
than  I  am,  Gunga  Din.' ' 

"  Conceded,"  said  Manning. 

"  But  take  now  the  God  of  the  Congolese,  of  the 
Bushman,  the  Huron,  the  Blackfellow  of  Australia. 
He  is  a  God  of  cruelty,  lust,  and  deceit.  He  rules 
entirely  by  fear.  He  makes  life  for  his  votaries  an 
unceasing  round  of  panic  and  placatory  sacrifice. 
He  demands  the  roasted  flesh  of  enemies,  the  sacri- 
fice of  children,  the  immolation  of  virgins,  the 
mutilation  of  one's  own  body.  He  is  not  even 
fashioned  by  man  after  his  own  image;  for  whereas 
the  Negro  is  on  the  whole  a  well-built,  upstanding, 
clean-skinned  biped,  his  god  is  a  monstrosity,  with 
no  head  or  three  heads,  no  feet  or  ten  feet,  a  night- 
mare, an  abortion. 

"  Well,  then,  man  for  man  and  god  for  god,  as 
between  you  and  the  native  of  the  Congo,  who  has 
made  the  greater  progress  in  the  course  of  ten  thou- 
sand years,  man  or  God  ?  " 

"  Cleverly  put,"  said  Manning. 


Manning  Insists  137 

"  Soundly  put !  "  shouted  Latimer.  "  My  dear 
fellow, — "  here  he  got  up  from  his  chair  and  seized 
the  other  by  the  lapel  of  his  shabby  jacket, — "  my 
dear  Manning,  the  further  back  you  carry  the  in- 
vestigation, the  stronger  is  the  showing  for  a  God 
moving  on  to  higher  things.  When  you  spoke  of 
inefficient  management  in  the  universe  you  were 
thinking  of  evolution,  weren't  you?  Jacques  Loeb 
speaks  of  one  of  those  obscure  deep-sea  creatures 
with  which  I  will  not  pretend  to  have  even  a  bow- 
ing acquaintance.  Well,  of  a  potential  100,000,000 
offspring  of,  let  us  call  it,  Medusa  hypothetica, 
Loeb  estimates  that  10,000  survive,  one  one-hun- 
dredth of  one  per  cent.  That  is  what  you  were 
thinking  of,  99  99/100  per  cent  of  waste.  You  were 
thinking  of  war,  cancer,  tuberculosis,  plague,  and 
starvation  wages.  You  were  thinking  that  the  God 
who  lets  the  spawn  of  the  deep  seas  go  down  to 
destruction  lets  the  spawn  of  human  kind  go  down 
into  senseless  destruction." 

"  I  was,"  said  Manning. 

"But  have  you  marked  the  improvement?  Of 
ten  thousand  eggs  of  Medusa  Hypothetica,  one  sur- 
vives. Of  ten  thousand  children  born,  even  in  un- 
sanitary and  underfed  India,  probably  seven  thou- 
sand survive.  An  improvement  of  700,000  per  cent 


138         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

in  the  evolution  from  fish  to  man.  It  is  some- 
thing." 

"  Something,  yes,"  Manning  agreed. 

"  It  is  much,"  said  Latimer.  "  And  it  gives  you 
your  answer.  How  will  God  come  out  of  this  war? 
Judging  by  precedent,  He  will  emerge  with  fair 
credit.  Certainly  in  much  better  shape  than  the 
German  General  Staff.  If  the  war  shall  mark  a 
step  forward  in  evolution,  then  it  is  probable  that 
God  has  moved  further  forward  than  man.  If  the 
war  is  a  step  backward,  He  has  probably  fallen  back 
far  less  than  man.  The  proportion  is  always  in  his 
favor.  He  is  the  van  and  the  rear-guard." 

"  We  can  go  back  to  the  dining-room,"  said 
Margaret. 


INTERLUDE 

"  Go  to,  now,"  the  indignant  reader  will  have 
been  saying  to  himself  this  many  a  page;  "what 
sort  of  romance  of  the  open  road  is  this  which  has 
been  wandering  up  and  down  the  countryside  for 
two  days  and  has  not  yet  encountered  a  philosophic 
tinker — with  or  without  a  female  companion — 
eating  fried  bacon  from  the  point  of  a  clasp- 
knife?" 

Let  the  outspoken  reader  be  patient  only  a  few 
minutes  longer,  and  the  fault  shall  be  more  than 
remedied. 


139 


CHAPTER  XII 
IDYLL  IN  A  GARAGE 

LATIMER  rose  the  next  morning  some  time  after 
dim  sounds  in  the  kitchen  and  the  outhouses  inti- 
mated that  the  girl  and  her  father  were  astir.  But 
when  he  was  dressed  and  downstairs,  it  was  still 
early  enough  to  fall  in  with  Manning's  suggestion 
of  a  sheltered  cove  in  the  river  just  below  the 
house,  where  one  might  bathe  with  comfort  if  one 
overlooked  the  sharp-edged  stones  on  the  bottom. 
Latimer  acquiesced  all  the  more  readily  because  his 
sleep  had  not  been  of  the  best.  Part  of  the  night 
he  had  been  reviewing,  wide-eyed,  a  painful  num- 
ber of  flaws  in  his  discourse  with  Manning.  By 
changing  his  pillow  to  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  back 
again,  he  succeeded  in  going  to  sleep;  but  it  was  ill 
resting  on  the  platform  of  the  Auditorium  and  try- 
ing to  make  your  voice  carry  its  message  of  an  Ulti- 
mate Purpose  over  the  blare  of  a  full-sized  union 
orchestra  under  Mrs.  Jamieson's  direction.  It  was 
the  sight  of  his  heavy-eyed  guest  that  caused  Man- 
ning to  suggest  the  swimming-hole. 

140 


Idyll  in  a  Garage  141 

The  sky  was  overcast,  with  a  threat  of  rain.  As 
Latimer  made  his  way  to  the  river,  he  was  more 
than  ever  conscious  of  several  points  in  Manning's 
argument  that  called  for  a  more  explicit  reply. 
But  with  the  first  shiver  of  his  body  to  the  chill 
of  the  mountain  stream  the  world  began  to  adjust 
itself,  and  as  he  splashed  out  vigorously  the  sun 
broke  through  the  clouds.  At  the  swing  of  that 
familiar  baton,  the  non-union  orchestra  in  the  tree- 
tops  struck  up  in  full  strength,  the  surface  of  the 
stream  fell  into  a  shimmering  Oriental  dance,  and 
Manning's  objections  were  revealed  in  all  their 
flimsy  nakedness. 

"  Why  are  not  all  of  us  sun-worshippers  ?  "  said 
Latimer,  as  he  threw  the  tingling  cool  of  the  water 
into  his  face  from  the  hollowed  cup  of  his  up- 
turned palms.  "  The  reason  may  be — Oh !  "  He 
had  stepped  with  his  full  weight  on  a  sharp  flint  and 
he  jerked  his  foot  out  of  the  water  prepared  for 
the  necessity  of  cotton  and  peroxide.  With  relief 
he  found  that  the  skin  was  not  broken.  Still,  that 
might  be  a  reason  why  people  did  not  universally 
pray  to  the  sun  from  a  pebbly  bottom.  His  clear 
eye  at  breakfast  delighted  his  host. 

The  sky  was  gloomy  once  more  when  he  shoul- 
dered his  knapsack.  Manning's  caution  that  it 


142        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

would  surely  rain  before  noon  he  dismissed  as  un- 
worthy of  a  man  and  a  tried  pedestrian.  Would 
he  come  again,  soon,  by  Sunday,  perhaps?  They 
might  then  go  up  to  the  Big  House,  inhabited,  as 
Margaret  had  told  him,  by  so  many  queer  people. 
It  would  be  worth  Latimer's  while,  insisted  Man- 
ning; but  he  was  thinking  really  of  himself.  He 
had  not  exhausted  his  visitor. 

"  I  will  come  back,"  said  Latimer,  and  shook 
hands  with  Manning.  He  took  Margaret's  hands 
between  his  own  and  held  them  for  some  time. 
"  Thank  you  very  much,  Margaret,"  he  said. 

"For  what,  Dr.  Latimer?"  she  asked. 

He  blushed,  stammered  slightly,  and  saved  him- 
self. 

"  For  the  color  of  your  eyes,  my  dear." 

At  the  gate  he  turned  back. 

"What  would  it  cost  to  put  a  self-starter  into 
that  automobile  of  yours  ?  "  he  asked. 

Manning  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  there's  one  coming  down  next  week,"  he 
said.  "  You  see,  I've  sold  a  piece  to  the  Poultry 
Grower's  Journal  on  *  Mobilizing  the  Incubator,' 
— And  Latimer! " 

"Yes?" 

"  Last  night,  it  took  me  a  good  while  to  fall 


Idyll  in  a  Garage  143 

asleep."  Manning  paused,  frowned,  and  burst 
out:  "  What  will  happen  to  America?" 

"  Oh,  we'll  win  the  war.  How  can  you  doubt  it 
on  a  morning  like  this?" 

"  I'm  not  worrying  about  the  war,"  said  Man- 
ning. "  That  part  of  it  is  all  right.  What  I  kept 
asking  myself  last  night  is,  Ought  we  to  win  ths 
war  ?  What  shape  has  the  war  found  us  in  ?  How 
will  it  leave  us?" 

"  And  do  you  know  now  ?  " 

"  If  I  knew  everything,  Latimer,  I  wouldn't  be 
playing  nurse-girl  to  a  lot  of  debutante  chickens. 
I'd  be  writing  editorials  for  the  New  Republic. 
But  here  is  the  point:  How  about  the  Melting 
Pot?" 

"  You've  been  delving  into  the  subject,  and  I 
haven't,"  said  Latimer,  still  unable  to  get  into  the 
proper  mood.  "  What  have  you  found  out?" 

"  The  Melting  Pot  is  a  farce,"  said  Manning. 
"  It  is  crying  out  for  the  junkman.  We  are  not  a 
nation,  Latimer.  We're  a  Benevolent  and  Protective 
Order  of  all  the  fauna  in  the  zoo;  so  long  as  the 
assessment  rate  doesn't  get  too  high.  Then  we  sit 
up  on  our  hind  legs  and  howl." 

"  Like  good  democrats,"  said  Latimer.  "  It  is  a 
subject  that  will  stand  examination.  Good-by." 


144        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

It  was  his  intention  to  head  back  for  Williams- 
port  and  Harriet.  This  might  be  done,  without 
retracing  one's  route,  by  striking  out  across  the 
hills  and  turning  north  along  the  eastern  slope.  It 
was  a  much  easier  climb  than  the  road  out  of 
Williamsport.  Less  than  an  hour  brought  him  to 
the  summit,  and  then  it  was  a  steady  drop  through 
cornfields  and  meadows  criss-crossed  with  trickling 
water  by  which  the  cattle  were  feeding — the  beau- 
tiful eugenic  herds  that  ministered  to  the  high 
butter-fat  standards  of  the  great  city.  The  clouds 
were  low;  it  would  rain  before  nightfall,  but  not 
long  before  that.  Surely  there  was  time  for  the 
snatch  of  sleep  under  the  trees,  which  his  growing 
drowsiness  demanded;  it  was  habit  reinforced  by 
the  reaction  from  his  morning  bath. 

He  stretched  out  by  a  broad  shallow  of  granite- 
paved  water  and  opened  Quentin  Durward.  From 
the  other  side  a  contemplative  Jersey  watched  and 
gave  approval.  That  gentle,  sympathetic  gaze  took 
him  from  Walter  Scott  and  lust  for  sleep.  He  put 
away  the  book,  pillowed  his  head  on  his  right  arm, 
and  grew  absorbed  in  his  neighbor. 

"  I  trust,"  Latimer  found  himself  addressing  the 
cow,  though  his  lips  did  not  move,  "  that  you  will 
not  think  me  unjust  to  my  good  friend  Manning, 


Idyll  in  a  Garage  145 

if  I  find  my  mind  working  more  composedly  in 
your  presence.  This  is  intended  neither  as  a  reflec- 
tion upon  Manning  nor  as  flattery  to  you.  It  is 
simply  a  question  of  atmosphere." 

The  cow  raised  her  head,  studied  her  visitor  in- 
tently without  committing  herself  to  any  definite 
opinion,  and  made  a  half  turn  to  the  left  where  the 
grass  stood  high.  She  thus  gave  Latimer  her  profile. 

"  For  the  gist  of  the  matter  is  this,"  said  Lati- 
mer. "  In  all  discourse  between  man  and  man  the 
spirit  of  controversy  intrudes  upon  and  injures  the" 
spirit  of  truth.  What  people  call  persuasion  is  only 
a  mutual  sacrifice  of  the  truth  for  the  sake  of 
harmony.  But  you  and  I,  oh  cow,  by  refraining 
from  all  exchange  of  thought,  remain  each  true  to 
his  or  her  own  course.  We  stimulate  each  other,  but 
we  do  not  impose  ourselves  on  each  other.  There 
is  no  compromise.  Either  you  have  the  whole 
truth  or  I.  There  is  no  modus  vivendi  with  the 
truth." 

The  cow  made  another  half  turn  to  the  left,  put- 
ting Latimer  entirely  out  of  her  view,  and  went  on 
with  her  meal.  Her  tail  switched  to  the  right  and 
left  in  sharp  little  jerks,  like  a  symphony  con- 
ductor's baton  in  the  Scherzo. 

"  No  doubt  you  will  ask,"  said  Latimer,  "  why 


146        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

thought  should  ever  be  pursued  in  the  presence  of 
a  second  party.  You  might  cite  the  case  of  great 
religions  which  have  been  formulated  in  the  desert, 
and  scientific  truths  which  have  been  run  down  in 
the  solitude  of  college  laboratories.  But  I  doubt 
whether  there  has  ever  been  a  truly  perfect  solitude. 
An  ant,  a  nesting  bird,  a  snake  across  the  rocks, 
intrudes  upon  the  vision  of  the  anchorite  and  sup- 
plies the  incentive,  the  model  for  thought.  That 
is  just  it.  The  silent  artist  model  is  what  we  need, 
present  but  unobtrusive." 

The  cow  turned  full  face,  studied  Latimer  for  a 
moment,  and  swung  gently  forward  into  the  shal- 
low stream  as  if  with  the  intention  of  entering  into 
closer  communion.  But  half  way  across  she 
stopped  to  drink;  which  having  accomplished  she  re- 
turned to  her  own  side  of  the  stream,  knelt,  and 
observed  him  dispassionately. 

"  That  is  as  it  should  be,"  said  Latimer.  "  I 
want  you  near  enough  to  make  me  aware  of  a  non- 
Ego,  without  being  compelled  to  take  you  into 
account." 

He  picked  up  Quentin  Durward  and  fell  asleep. 

A  wet  puff  of  wind  roused  him  and  brought  him 
to  his  feet.  There  was  thunder  in  the  near  dis- 
tance, and  the  clouds  were  sweeping  up  from  the 


Idyll  in  a  Garagtt  147 

west  at  a  rate  that  made  it  a  problem  of  minutes 
for  Latimer  to  find  shelter.  It  would  not  be  a 
difficult  matter  in  this  thick-studded  farmland. 
Only  it  was  not  a  farmhouse  that  offered  itself 
first,  but  an  ancient  barn  now  converted  to  the  uses 
of  a  public  garage. 

"  May  I  turn  in  until  the  storm  is  over?  "  asked 
Latimer  of  one  in  besmeared  overalls  who  sat 
tilting  back  against  the  wall  just  inside  the  double 
doors  of  the  barn  and  dozed,  apparently. 

The  proprietor  looked  up  at  Latimer  out  of  a 
pair  of  very  light  blue  eyes  that  were  not  at  all 
heavy  with  sleep,  massaged  his  chin  with  thumb 
and  index  finger,  looked  out  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  mad  drive  of  the  clouds,  spit  judicially,  and 
said,  "  I  reckon  you  better." 

He  indicated  a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the 
doorway. 

"  It  will  keep  up  some  time  when  it  comes,"  said 
Latimer,  turning  his  chair  so  as  to  command 
through  the  doorway  the  massed  darkness  piling  in 
from  the  west,  the  hill-tops  already  lost  in  the  mist, 
and  the  sudden  little  tremor  of  the  leaves  in  the 
anxious  hush  before  the  downpour. 

"  You  can't  always  tell,"  said  the  other,  with 
complete  lack  of  conviction. 


148        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

Latimer  stared. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  take  it  as  a  personal  animad- 
version," he  said,  "  but  the  non-committal  nature 
of  your  reply  makes  me  wonder  once  more  at  the 
seeming  inability  of  country  folk  to  make  a  defi- 
nite statement.  Why,  for  instance,  is  it  that  no 
farmer  will  ever  tell  you  how  many  miles  it  is  to 
anywhere?  Unlike  us  of  the  city,  you  who  travel 
in  buggy  or  haywagon  are  not  occupied  with  your 
newspaper  or  conversation  when  in  transit.  When 
your  eyes  are  not  fixed  on  a  spot  somewhere  be- 
tween the  horse's  ears,  you  must  be  looking  at  the 
road.  You  know  its  every  turn  and  stretch.  Why, 
then?" 

The  garage-master's  cigar  went  from  one  corner 
of  the  mouth  to  the  other  by  a  single  dento-labial 
manceuver  that  would  have  delighted  a  philologist. 

"  It  don't  make  the  least  difference  to  people  out 
here,"  he  said,  "  if  it's  five  miles  or  ten.  Out  here 
we  hitch  up  in  time  so  as  to  get  back  in  time;  that's 
all.  Miles  is  an  artificial  thing." 

"  You're  a  philosopher  ?  " 

"  Wagons  and  general  repair  work  was  my  line. 
Now  it's  mostly  automobiles.  The  only  people 
who  are  interested  in  miles  are  those  who  can  afford 
to  go  anywhere  at  any  time.  They  pull  up  here 


L 


"May  I  turn  in  until  the  stonn  is  over?' 


Idyll  in  a  Garage  149 

and  ask  how  far  to  Kingston.  You  tell  'em  and 
they  say,  '  That's  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  since 
breakfast.'  Now  those  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
might  be  anywhere,  I  reckon." 

"  True,"  said  Latimer. 

From  beyond  the  hills  the  growl  of  thunder  came 
rolling  up  and  broke  in  a  great  crash  overhead. 
The  face  of  the  earth  was  rigid  with  suspense. 

"  '  Gas,  28  cents,'  "  ruminated  Latimer,  studying 
the  signs  before  the  door.  "  Gas,  I  presume,  is 
gasoline.  But  what  do  you  mean  by  Free  Air  ?  " 

The  garage-master  looked  at  him  in  wonder. 

"  For  the  tires,"  he  said. 

"  But  that  is  the  same  air  we  breathe." 

The  other  grinned. 

"  Ever  try  to  fill  a  36-inch  tube  by  hand  ?  " 

"  The  cost  of  inflation,  to  be  sure ! "  cried  Lati- 
mer. "  I  am  a  novice  in  motor-science.  Strange, 
though!  One  may  now  say  as  free  as  the  air  on 
condition  only  that  one  buys  something  with  the 
air,  like  gas  at  28  cents.  It  is  one  disadvantage 
under  which  the  rich  suffer  as  compared  with  the 
poor.  These  do  have  their  air  free."  The  first 
drops  fell  cool  on  his  face.  "  It  looks  as  if  you 
might  be  compelled  to  shut  up  shop  for  the  after- 
noon." 


150        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

The  proprietor  got  up  and  stood  in  the  doorway, 
his  cigar  drooping  heavy  with  thought. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  They  come  by  in  all 
weather.  Some  of  them  like  the  splash  of  the 
mud." 

"  And  seeing  them  come  and  go  raises  no  desire 
to  be  up  with  them  and  out  into  the  world  ?  " 

The  other  grinned. 

"  Seein'  the  world  costs,  even  if  the  air  be  free." 
He  searched  his  pockets  for  a  match  and,  finding 
none,  was  just  as  content.  "  I  guess  you  see  just 
as  much  by  staying  here  and  havin'  the  world  come 
to  you.  There'll  be  sometimes  a  dozen  cars  stop- 
ping in  the  course  of  a  day.  That's  fifty  people  you 
see,  face  to  face.  You  ain't  likely  to  see  that  many 
if  you  climbed  into  a  car  yourself  and  went  out 
inspectin'  the  world." 

"  Only  here  you  see  them  under  the  same  limited 
aspect,"  Latimer  insisted.  "  Either  they  want  gas 
or  oil  or  free  air." 

"  Yep,"  said  the  owner.  "  And  when  you've 
done  a  thousand  miles  in  your  machine,  you've  met 
about  a  dozen  men  who  sell  gas  or  air  or  chicken 
dinners."  Once  more  he  searched  for  matches  and 
fell  back  into  baffled  resignation.  "  Don't  you 
think  they'd  get  tired  going  through  the  same  game 


Idyll  in  a  Garage 

on  their  holidays  they  do  all  the  rest  of  the  year 
at  home?  " 

"  What  game  ?  "  said  Latimer. 

"  The  man  in  front  drives  like  mad  all  day,  and 
the  ladies  sit  still  and  look  at  the  scenery.  Man 
at  the  wheel  has  no  time  for  that.  When  they 
stop  for  the  night,  he's  too  tired  for  conversation." 

(Now  by  this  time  it  must  be  obvious  to  the 
discerning  reader  that  for  some  pages  back  he  has 
been  in  the  presence  of  a  philosophic  tinker.  As 
for  the  bacon,  that  is  to  come  immediately.) 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  TINKERS'  CHORUS 

WITHOUT  warning  the  show  began.  A  zigzag  of 
violet  flame  shot  down  into  the  grove  across  the 
road,  signaling  the  last  desperate  bombardment  be- 
fore the  charge.  While  their  ear-drums  were  still 
aching  with  the  fury  of  the  thunder  salvos,  the 
rain  came  down  in  a  sweeping  barrage,  the 
yellow  dust  in  the  road  had  turned  to  steaming 
chocolate,  and  the  wagon-ruts  were  overflowing 
gulleys. 

The  men  rose  to  draw  their  chairs  out  of  the 
swirl  of  the  storm,  but  the  owner  did  not  resume 
his  seat.  He  stood  in  the  doorway  and  listened. 

"Had  dinner?"  he  said. 

It  was  a  loosening  of  the  flood-gates.  Latimer 
was  instantly  assailed  by  the  swirling  tides  of 
famine.  He  dived  into  his  knapsack. 

"  I  have  with  me  an  ample  provision  of  hard- 
boiled  eggs,"  he  said.  "  Also  fruit,  chocolate  cake, 
soda  crackers,  salt  and  pepper."  It  was  Margaret 

who  had  thought  of  the  salt  and  pepper  at  the 

152 


The  Tinkers'  Chorus  153 

last  moment.  "  I  should  be  happy  to  have  you 
share  with  me." 

From  a  cupboard  the  other  man  brought  forth 
bread,  a  sizeable  tin  pail,  and  a  basin  containing 
eggs.  At  sight  of  the  pail  Latimer  straightened  on 
his  chair. 

"  Not  bacon  ?  "  he  said. 

His  host  nodded.  "  You'd  better  save  your  pro- 
visions for  supper,  if  you  prefer  this." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Latimer. 

On  an  empty  packing-case  in  one  corner  the 
proprietor  placed  a  small  kerosene  stove,  and  on 
that  a  skillet.  Latimer  laid  out  his  share  of  the 
feast,  bustling  about  in  the  divine  aroma  from  the 
frying-pan.  He  brought  up  the  two  chairs  from 
the  doorway,  while  his  host  began  breaking  eggs 
into  the  pan.  Suddenly  the  latter  stopped,  listened, 
and  moved  to  the  door. 

"  Car  coming,"  he  said.  "  Big  machine."  And 
he  cleared  a  pathway  from  the  door  to  the  rear  of 
the  barn. 

"  You  expect  them  to  turn  in?  " 

"  They  better,"  said  the  proprietor. 

The  heavy  mustard-colored  car  ran  past  the 
garage,  slackened,  slipped,  stopped  and  began 
churning  its  way  back.  The  driver  had  caught 


154        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

sight  of  shelter  too  late.  He  now  maneuvered  his 
retreat  so  deftly  as  to  evoke  a  glance  of  expert  ap- 
proval from  the  judicial  garage-master.  In  spite 
of  the  protection  of  top,  side-curtains,  and  wind- 
shield, the  three  men  who  emerged  from  the  car 
were,  two  of  them,  in  damp  discomfort,  and  the 
driver  wet  to  the  skin. 

Thomas  Carlyle  thought  that,  if  you  were  to 
strip  a  roomful  of  people  of  their  clothes,  the  essen- 
tial democracy  of  man  would  be  demonstrated. 
But  an  easier  way,  and  more  in  harmony  with  the 
requirements  of  modern  decorum,  would  be  to  put 
a  number  of  men  into  motor-dusters;  and  if  such 
coats  should  be  sodden  with  rain,  the  semblance  of 
human  equality  would  be  complete.  At  first  Lati- 
mer  saw  only  three  men  in  soggy  apparel  and 
uniform  ill-temper.  That  the  driver  was  the 
owner  of  the  magnificent  car  was  apparent  only 
from  the  easy  manner  in  which  he  turned  over 
the  machine  to  the  garage-master,  with  a  few  curt 
words  of  direction. 

"  One  of  our  rulers,"  thought  Latimer,  embrac- 
ing in  one  swift  glance  of  appraisal  the  tall,  trim- 
shouldered  figure,  the  iron-gray  hair,  the  clean- 
modeled  nose  and  chin,  the  close-clipped  moustache, 
which,  set  above  a  thin-carved  mouth,  is  the  dis- 


The  Tinkers'  Chorus 

tinguishing  mark  of  our  best  American  physi- 
ognomy. He  looked  ownership;  not  offensively  so, 
but  immediately,  unquestionably  authentic. 

Of  his  companions  Latimer  decided  that  the 
short,  pudgy,  bald-headed  gentleman  with  a  profes- 
sional beard  was  of  Teuton  origin.  The  third 
stranger  was  native  again;  a  man  under  forty,  of 
the  fairly  ordinary  type  which  the  magazines 
usually  describe  as  keen  and  aggressive. 

The  owner  of  the  car  and  the  keen-faced  young 
man  gave  one  glance  at  Latimer,  and  one  at  the 
frying-pan,  and  then  turned  away  to  perform  their 
share  of  a  tourist's  duty  in  a  garage,  which  con- 
sists in  looking  on  as  intensely  as  may  be  while 
the  mechanic  is  at-  work.  But  the  third  member  of 
the  party  threw  his  coat  and  hat  into  the  tonneau 
and  revealed  himself  to  Latimer  in  a  flash  as  a 
lovable  human  creature. 

"  Paeon ! "  he  shouted,  thrusting  his  nose  much 
closer  to  the  delectable  dish  than  good  manners,  not 
to  say  safety,  permitted.  "  And  we  have  break- 
fasted at  seven  o'clock.  What  a  preakfast!  Half- 
cooked  ham  gulped  down  to  the  dedriment  of  the 
indestinal  secretions !  And  the  coffee — my  Gott !  " 

"  You  are  heartily  welcome  to  what  you  see," 
said  Latimer. 


156        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  You  are  not  a  guest  here?  " 

"  I  am,  but  likewise  half-owner  of  what  is  on 
the  table." 

"  Yes,  but  for  five  strong  men,  of  whom  three 
have  breakfasted  at  seven  o'clock;  and  such  a 
preakfast ! " 

"  There  is  more  in  our  host's  tin  pail,  and  I  can 
vouch  for  his  kindliness,"  said  Latimer. 

The  bald-headed  famine  victim  sank  into  a  chair 
with  a  vast  sigh  of  felicity.  "  The  meganism  of 
an  automobile  is  something  that  has  never  inter- 
ested me,"  he  said;  and  with  two  slices  of  bread 
he  dredged  a  sliver  of  bacon  from  the  pan.  One 
slice  of  bread  with  the  bacon  went  to  its  destiny, 
the  other  came  back  and  scooped  up  a  magnificent 
portion  of  egg  and  gravy. 

"  Life  has  its  atvendures,"  he  said,  as  soon 
as  the  facilities  offered ;  "  but  also  it  has  its 
compensations."  He  searched  the  barn  for  Lati- 
mer's  car.  "  You  are  embarked  upon  a  pedestrian 
tour?" 

"  Rather  late  in  life,"  said  Latimer,  "  I  have  suc- 
cumbed to  the  lure  of  the  out-of-doors.  My  name 
is  Latimer.  I'm  from  the  city." 

"  I  too ;  Hartmann  is  the  name.  And  you  find  it 
not  disappointing?  " 


The  Tinkers'  Chorus  157 

"The  contrary — delightful;  only  not  altogether 
in  consonance  with  the  classic  model." 

"  Not  quite  Cheorche  Porrow,  hey  ?  The  wind 
on  the  heath,  the  tends  of  the  Romany  Rye? 
Gasoline  fumes  rather  ?  " 

"  Quite  so.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  some  of  the 
essentials  persist.  For  instance — "  and  Latimer 
indicated  the  frying-pan.  "  If  you  will  allow  a 
kerosene  stove  for  a  fire  of  dry  twigs,  we  are  by 
the  road,  virtually  in  the  open,  on  the  edge  of  a 
wood,  the  storm  in  our  ears — now  what  else  does 
it  need  to  fill  up  the  picture  ?  " 

Hartmann  paused  with  two  slabs  of  bread  sus- 
pended over  the  skillet  like  one  of  the  witches  in 
Macbeth,  I,  i.  He  stared  a  moment,  then 
shouted, — 

"  A  dinker !  Don't  say  you  have  found  a  dinker, 
with  a  little  din  stove  and  bellows — and  a  tonkey?  " 

"  A  tinker  precisely,  though  without  the  acces- 
sories you  specify.  Our  friend  there."  And  Lati- 
mer pointed  to  the  garage  smith,  at  that  moment 
peering  under  the  lifted  hood  of  the  car.  "  Mod- 
ernized, to  be  sure,  but  genuine  enough  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  one  quality  which  makes  tinkers  what 
they  are  ?  " 

"  Bacon,  you  mean  ?  " 


Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Well,  then,  I  should  have  said,  two  faculties : 
bacon,  of  which  you  have  already  tasted;  and 
homely  wisdom,  of  which  I  had  a  goodly  portion 
before  you  came,  and  to  the  quality  of  which  I  can 
testify." 

Hartmann  clutched  at  his  unanointed  bread  slices 
\vith  the  joy  of  a  great  illumination. 

"  But,  my  Gott,  I  am  sdupid !  For  two  weeks 
I  have  been  traveling  with  the  greatest  of  them  all, 
the  greatest  in  America,  and  I  have  not  known  it." 

Latimer  was  puzzled.  "  We  were  speaking  of 
tinkers." 

"  Brecisely.  You  have  heard  of  him."  He 
nodded  toward  the  owner  of  the  car.  "  Foreman 
— Cornelius  J.  Foreman  of  the  International  Can 
and  Car  Company.  He  began,  you  will  remember, 
by  soldering  tin  cans  for  the  preserved  vechetable 
trade.  Since  then  he  has  picked  up  side  lines — 
tin-plate,  steel  rails,  beams,  automobile  parts,  ships, 
munitions." 

"  When  a  man  of  business  reaches  that  stage," 
said  Latimer,  "  it  is  my  impression  that  his  interest 
is  no  longer  in  producing  real  things  but  in  financ- 
ing them.  Strictly  speaking,  Mr.  Foreman  is  not 
a  tinker  but  a  capitalist." 

"  Even    so,"    replied    Hartmann.       "  In    other 


The  Tinkers'  Chorus  159 

words,  the  highest  tevelopment  of  the  dinker's 
trade.  He  patches  up  leaky  corporations.  He  pol- 
ishes up  darnished  credit.  He  organizes,  reorgan- 
izes, gonsolidates,  absorbs — as  I  said,  a  dinker." 

"  And  the  young  man?  "  said  Latimer. 

"  That's  my  good  friend  Hamlin  Filbert,  effi- 
ciency expert." 

The  automobile  had  now  received  all  the  super- 
visory attention  it  needed.  Foreman  and  the  young 
man  with  the  executive  eye  walked  to  the  door, 
took  just  one  sufficient  glance  to  show  that  they 
were  weatherbound  for  some  time,  and  turned  to 
the  packing-case  table,  where  room  was  somehow 
found  for  them.  The  garage-owner  put  down  his 
oil-can  and  turned  cook.  Hartmann  pondered  the 
moral  problem  whether  he  was  entitled  to  a  share 
in  the  new  supply  of  eggs  which  the  host  brought 
forth  from  the  cupboard  and  was  now  assimilating 
with  fresh  bacon  into  a  heavenly  mess.  From  this 
reverie  he  tore  himself  to  make  the  required  intro- 
ductions, with  special  emphasis  on  his  own  happy 
conceit  of  Cornelius  J.  Foreman,  Tinker. 

"  Fine,"  said  Foreman.  "  Now  tell  Mr.  Latimer 
something  about  yourself." 

But  Hartmann  suddenly  became  tongue-tied  with 
shyness,  and  Foreman  expounded. 


160        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

"  Dr.  Hartmann  has  kindly  consented  to  collabo- 
rate with  me  in  a  project  I  have  now  under  way." 

"  It's  dis  way,"  cried  Hartmann,  in  a  desperate 
attempt  to  shift  the  focus  of  interest  from  himself. 
"  Fifty  miles  from  here,  in  the  Bennsylvania  hills, 
Mr.  Foreman  has  a  big  plant  which  before  the  war 
used  to  produce  more  salmon  dins  and  fruit-jar 
covers  than  the  compined  outbut  of — what  shall  I 
say  ? — Tenmark  and  Sweden  ?  " 

"  You  might  throw  in  Spain  and  Guatemala," 
said  Foreman. 

"  To-day  it  produces  munitions,"  said  Hart- 
mann. "  And  we  are  rebuilding  Fairview  into  a 
model  town.  Mr.  Foreman  was  always  inderested 
in  his  workers.  But  undil  recently  the  broject  in- 
volved very  serious  financial  considerations.  For- 
tunately, the  war  " — 

He  stopped  short,  fearing  that  his  narrative  was 
verging  on  satire,  but  Foreman  calmly  went  on 
with  his  meal. 

"  Fire  ahead;  you're  doing  fine,"  he  said. 

"  The  asdounding  brosperity  the  country  is  now 
enjoying,"  said  Hartmann,  "  has  brought  the  great 
plan  to  fruition.  We  are  building.  Our  present 
mission  is  a  final  survey  of  the  water-subbly." 

For  Latimer  the  first  pleasing  vision  of  a  com- 


The  Tinkers'  Chorus  161 

fortably  housed  and  safeguarded  factory  popula- 
tion was  spoiled  by  the  presence  of  the  keen-faced 
efficiency  expert.  He  saw  the  new  Fairview,  with 
its  sanitary  homes, — no  doubt  in  the  sixteenth- 
century  English  village  architecture, — its  com- 
munity hall,  its  open-air  swimming-pool  probably, 
and  about  the  heart  he  felt  the  cramp  of  formula 
from  which  he  was  fleeing. 

"Tell  me  this,"  he  said:  "does  your  plan  pro- 
vide freedom  for  your  workers  as  well  as  health 
and  recreation?" 

For  the  first  time  Filbert  spoke  up. 

"  A  healthy  man  is  a  free  man.  Seventy-eight 
per  cent  of  dependency  among  the  poor  is  directly 
due  to  illness." 

"  I  read  only  the  other  day  of  an  efficiency 
specialist,"  said  Latimer  quite  inconsequentially. 
"  He  found  out  that  the  middle-aged  women 
stenographers  were  being  paid  according  to  their 
years  of  service,  although  they  averaged  three 
words  to  the  minute  less  than  the  girls  a  year  out 
from  business  school.  He  therefore  readjusted 
the  salary  schedule  on  a  words-to-the-minute  basis. 
For  that  may  a  patient  God  take  pity  on  his 
soul!" 

The  next  moment  he  was  racked  with  shame. 


1 62        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Every  profession  has  its  muckers,"  said  Fil- 
bert quietly.  "  We  shall  ultimately  live  down 
ours." 

"  Mr.  Filbert  has  not  been  taking  the  bread  out 
of  the  mouths  of  my  employees,"  said  Foreman. 
"  He  has  helped  me  increase  wages  twenty-five  per 
cent  in  the  last  two  years." 

"And  output?"  said  Latimer. 

"  Thirty-five  per  cent,"  replied  Foreman.  "  And 
when  Dr.  Hartmann  gets  through  with  Fairview, 
wages  and  output  will  be  still  higher." 

"Dr.  Hartmann?"  said  Latimer;  and  Foreman 
showed  his  surprise. 

"  I  imagined  you  had  identified  him  before  this," 
he  said.  "  Hartmann  is  the  T.B.  specialist  at  the 
New  Medical  College,  and  head  of  the  East  Side 
Hospital  for  Industrial  Disease." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Hartmann,  who  squirmed 
and  blushed  under  the  scrutiny  directed  toward 
him,  "  another  dinker.  That  makes  three." 

"  How  three?  "  said  Foreman. 

"  There  is  our  friend  the  blacksmith  over  there," 
said  Hartmann,  "  and  you,  and  myself,  whose 
sbecialty  is  patching  up  human  bots  and  kettles. 
That  makes  three.  No,  by  Gott,  four,  four!  My 
friend  Filbert  will  not  object  to  choining  the  class 


The  Tinkers'  Chorus  163 

as  a  dinkerer  of  nerve-energy  and  muscular  fatigue. 
What?" 

Filbert  accepted  the  badge  with  a  grin. 

"  Hartmann's  tinkering  being  the  hardest  of  all," 
said  Foreman,  with  obvious  affection  for  the  man. 

"  No ;  not  at  all  the  hardest,"  cried  Hartmann. 
"  The  simblest.  Yes.  I  work  with  the  simblest 
tools.  You  have  a  thousand  machines  in  your 
blants,  Foreman.  You  have  a  most  imbressive  col- 
lection of  hammers,  saws,  files,  wrenches,  bits, 
chacks,  pumps,  oilers,  what  not.  But  you  need  them 
all.  I,  too  make  a  great  show  of  machinery.  My 
office  is  gluttered  up  with  X-ray  machines  and 
arterial  gauges.  But  that  is  pluff.  My  real  tools 
are  three." 

"Yes?"  said  Latimer. 

"  Eggs,  milk,  and  air,"  said  Hartmann. 

"  Fortunately  the  latter  comes  free,  save  for  the 
well-to-do,"  said  Latimer,  pointing  to  the  sign 
outside. 

Hartmann's  face  darkened. 

"Dat  is  the  devil  of  it  all,"  he  cried.  "My 
friend  Foreman,  when  he  buys  his  gasoline  and  oil, 
gets  his  air  free;  but  my  batients  on  the  East  Side, 
when  they  buy  milk  and  eggs,  have  yet  to  buy  their 
air,  and  it  is  the  most  expensive  of  the  three.  In 


164        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

fact " — and  here  Hartmann  was  full  charge  on  his 
hobby — "  give  me  enough  free  air  and  I  want  liddle 
else.  I  want  windows  in  every  room,  so  that  I  can 
build  sleeping  dents.  It's  a  simble  matter.  You 
arrange  the  awning  so  that  the  patient's  body  is  all 
inside  the  room  and  only  the  head  brotrudes.  But 
I  must  have  windows — hundreds,  tousands,  dens 
of  tousands  of  them." 

"  You'll  have  them  in  Fairview,"  said  Foreman. 
Hartmann's  eyes  shone. 

"  Fairview  will  be  all  windows,  with  shust  enough 
building  material  to  frame  them."  Then,  suddenly 
and  in  the  happiness  of  his  heart,  "  Mr.  Latimer," 
he  cried,  "  why  don't  you  choin  this  merry  dinker's 
party  ?  Come  with  us  to  Fairview !  " 

"We'd  be  delighted,"  said  Foreman. 

"  Perhaps  I  might  qualify,"  said  Latimer  wist- 
fully. "  I,  too,  in  my  time,  when  I  was  in  active 
service  on  the  campus,  did  some  tinkering  with  the 
minds  and  souls  of  young  men." 

"Bravo!"  shouted  Hartmann.  "It  beats  Che- 
orche  Porrow !  Five  jolly  dinkers !  " 

"  I  will  come  gladly,"  said  Latimer.  "  Only  tell 
me  this,  Hartmann.  The  common  man  upon  whom 
we  have  been  practicing  our  trade — after  this  war, 


The  Tinkers'  Chorus  165 

will  he  consent  to  being  tinkered  with  as  before? 
Or  will  he  insist  on  a  larger  share  in  mending  his 
own  pots  and  kettles  ?  " 

"  You  mean — "  said  Hartmann. 

"  Just  this,"  said  Latimer.  "  Here  is  a  great 
mass  of  raw  and  half-shaped  material  which  we 
may  call  the  common  life,  and  here  are  the  four 
of  us  whose  business  it  has  been  to  tinker  with  this 
raw  material  in  our  several  lines;  to  whom  you 
might  add  many  others — the  military  tinker,  the 
ecclesiastical  tinker,  the  aesthetic  tinker,  and  the 
rest,  and  every  one  of  us  pretty  well  convinced  that 
we  were  the  people,  and  that  the  common  man  could 
not  possibly  get  on  without  us — without  my  educa- 
tional formula,  or  your  milk-and-egg  formula,  or 
Mr.  Foreman's  buying  and  selling  formula,  or  Mr. 
Filbert's  fatigue  curves.  How  does  the  war  affect 
our  pretensions?  What  chance  do  we  stand  after 
peace  is  signed  ?  " 

"  Something,  but  not  very  much,"  said  Foreman 
cheerfully.  "  The  war  has  shown  us  all  up." 

"  There  will  always  be  need  for  leadership,"  ob- 
jected Filbert. 

"  Leadership,"  laughed  Foreman.  "  A  joke,  and 
after  the  war  we  will  admit  it.  You  don't  agree, 
Mr.  Latimer?" 


1 66        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

"  I  don't  agree,  but  I  am  surprised.  Surely, 
if  any  one  is  entitled  to  believe  in  exceptional 
gifts  and  exceptional  services,  it  is  you — a 
hackneyed  phrase,  but  after  all,  a  Captain  of 
Industry." 

Foreman  grinned. 

"  Call  it  accident,  Mr.  Latimer,  and  you  will 
about  hit  it.  I'm  not  a  leader.  I  am  a  lucky  bit 
of  driftwood  bobbing  along  on  the  crest  of  a  great 
wave  which  you  have  called  the  common  life;  the 
common  life  of  a  people  of  one  hundred  millions. 
It's  luck.  Just  as  good  men  as  I  have  failed.  If 
Foreman  hadn't  organized  the  International  Can 
and  Car,  a  fellow  named  Jones  would  have  done 
it.  After  all,  the  people  must  have  their  canned 
salmon  and  barbed  wire.  The  war  has  found  us 
out,  I  tell  you.  Leadership !  Organization !  Bunk ! 
The  war  would  have  petered  out  long  ago  if  half 
a  billion  people  hadn't  revealed  unsuspected  capaci- 
ties for  going  without  food.  That's  what  our  lead- 
ership has  amounted  to." 

"  Without  leadership  Germany  would  have  col- 
lapsed two  years  ago,"  said  Filbert. 

"  Without  leadership  Chermany  might  now  be 
in  a  bosition  to  look  a  tecent  man  in  the  eye !  "  cried 
Hartmann.  "  Even  if  it  is  my  father's  country 


The  Tinkers'  Chorus  167 

which  he  left  two  chumps  ahead  of  the  drill- 
sergeant.  Chermany!  The  most  thoroughly  din- 
kered  nation  in  history,  and  its  soul  has  gone  to 
the  devil." 

"  No,  there  I  refuse  to  follow  you,"  said  Latimer, 
leaning  forward  to  put  a  hand  on  Hartmann's 
shoulder.  "It  is  precisely  my  point  that,  in  spite 
of  its  tinkerers,  the  soul  of  the  German  people  has 
not  been  sold  to  the  ancient  enemy:  it  beats  some- 
where, blinded,  wounded,  with  the  current  of  life 
in  it.  Just  as  my  boys  at  college  managed  to  grow 
into  life  in  spite  of  us  on  the  faculty.  Just  as 
Hartmann's  patients  frequently  get  well — I  beg 
your  pardon." 

"  But  it  is  quite  right,"  shouted  Hartmann. 
"  Eggs,  milk,  air,  and  let  dem  alone!  " 

"  Even  before  the  war,  it  seems  to  me  that  we 
were  turning  away  from  the  magic  of  formula  to 
the  simplicities  of  the  common  life,"  said  Latimer. 
"  It  has  been  away  from  pills  and  drugs  to  eggs, 
milk,  and  air.  Away  from  gerund-grinding  and 
trigonometrical  gymnastics  to — free  air.  Away 
from  ecclesiasticism  toward — well,  let  us  say,  free 
air.  And  so  in  the  factories  and  the  mines — though 
a  little." 

"  We'll  get  there  yet,"  said  Foreman. 


1 68        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Will  you  run  your  factories  after  the  war  under 
orders  from  the  I.W. W.  ?  "  said  Filbert. 

"  I've  fought  them  and  I  imagine  I  can  get  on 
with  them,"  said  Foreman. 

Larimer's  face  glowed. 

"  So  that,  in  spite  of  the  war,  in  spite  of  the  pain 
and  the  loss,  you  think  the  common  life  will  run  on 
after  the  war  ?  And  freer,  richer,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Foreman  gravely. 

"  It  is  a  happy  thought,"  said  Latimer  almost  to 
himself.  He  walked  to  the  door  and  looked  at  the 
sky.  "  There  is  no  sign  of  letting  up." 

"  Do  you  play  augtion?"  shouted  Hartmann. 

"Occasionally  and  badly,"  said  Latimer;  and  in 
the  course  of  the  next  hour  and  a  half  he  proved 
the  absolute  truth  of  the  second  part  of  his  state- 
ment. Then  the  sun  came  out. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
IN  THE  CRUCIBLE 

THEY  made  Fairview  after  dark,  partly  because 
of  a  blow-out  which  spoiled  for  them  the  glory  of 
the  setting  sun  behind  hills  of  hemlock  and  birch, 
and  partly  because  the  roads  would  not  dry  fast 
enough  to  let  Foreman  exploit  his  twelve  cylinders 
to  the  limit.  After  two  attempts  at  letting  her  out, 
one  resulting  in  the  aforesaid  blow-out  and  the  other 
in  a  swerve  toward  the  ditch,  which  caused  Latimer 
to  turn  pale  and  brace  himself  in  his  seat,  Foreman 
turned  the  wheel  over  to  Filbert  with  a  shake  of 
disgust,  and  sulked  in  contemplation  over  the 
speedometer  the  rest  of  the  way. 

Politely  disregarding  that  gloomy  protest  by  his 
side,  Filbert  held  the  car  down  to  a  safe  twenty- 
five  miles  an  hour,  and  took  the  curves  without 
timidity  but  without  bluster. 

They  crossed  a  wooden  bridge  and  ran  swiftly 
over  the  railway  traces,  through  the  reedy  flats  out 
of  which  the  massed  chimneys  of  the  International 
Can  and  Car  shot  up  into  the  dark,  mercifully 

169 


170        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

softened  from  their  indescribable  noon-day  ugliness. 
It  was  another  ten  minutes  up  grade  to  their  des- 
tination, the  home  of  one  of  the  International's  resi- 
dent managers,  as  Hartmann  explained,  who  was 
also  the  boyhood  friend  of  the  president  of  the  com- 
pany when  Fairview  was  a  small  mill  town  and 
Foreman  delivered  grocer's  parcels  after  school 
hours.  The  party  was  to  dine  with  the  Bauers,  and 
Latimer  made  little  difficulty  in  acquiescing  with 
Hartmann's  argument  that  one  more  guest  would 
not  matter. 

Ten  minutes  were  enough  to  reveal  Fairview  as 
a  community  living  in  the  state  of  double  transi- 
tion which  is  so  common  in  our  older  industrial 
towns.  It  was  like  the  strata  of  civilization  which 
Latimer's  favorite  Babylonian  excavators  are  so 
fond  of  digging  up,  only  that  the  epochs  were 
twenty  years  instead  of  twenty  centuries  apart. 
Latimer  caught  traces  of  primitive  Fairview  in  the 
decayed  sheds  and  homes  along  the  creek  over 
which  they  entered  the  town,  the  shingled  post- 
office,  the  open  doors  of  a  smithy  which  gave  a 
glimpse  of  wagon-litter,  of  men  with  hands  in  their 
pockets  conversing  to  the  rhythm  of  plug  cut,  and 
children,  overflowing  from  the  smithy  to  the  side- 
walk and  into  the  roadway.  Most  authentic  sur- 


They  crossed  a  wooden  bridge 


In  the  Crucible  171 

vival  of  all  was  the  row  of  elms  and  locusts  which 
arched  the  road  and  rose  to  the  crest  of  the  hill, 
with  a  promise  of  mystery. 

That  was  old  Fairview.  Along  the  side  streets 
Latimer  saw  flashes  of  a  newer  and  infinitely  de- 
pressing Fairview,  born  out  of  the  smoke  and  ashes 
belching  from  the  chimneys  on  the  flats.  An  alien 
people  had  inundated  these  former  lanes  of  Pennsyl- 
vania-German cleanliness  and  turned  them  into 
alleys  of  congestion.  The  old  houses  were  now 
tenements.  The  old  gardens,  outlined  by  bleak  sur- 
vivals of  white  wooden  palings,  were  now  a  frame- 
work for  hideous  lines  of  intimate  family  garb,  for 
discarded  household  goods,  for  the  elementary 
domestic  functions  which  the  old  American  reti- 
cence had  kept  primly  behind  low-drawn  shades 
and  closed  shutters.  It  reminded  Latimer  of  an 
overgrown  boy  breaking  out  of  his  clothes — this 
blur  of  heads  protruding  from  windows  in  neigh- 
borly and  resonant  conversation,  of  open  doors 
giving  vistas  into  the  interior  of  kitchens,  of 
mothers  nursing  their  young  on  the  porch-steps, 
and  of  children  swarming  everywhere. 

Between  these  old  homes  of  an  aboriginal  popu- 
lation and  the  hundreds  of  ugly  frame  barracks 
that  flanked  them  and  outnumbered  them,  there 


172        Professor  Latimer' s  Progress 

may  have  been  a  difference  of  thirty  years  in  age, 
but  new  and  old  were  in  the  same  stage  of  grime. 
This  was  the  industrial  town,  which  had  sprung  up 
around  the  factory  chimneys  without  order  and 
without  care  on  the  part  of  the  International  stock- 
holders and  managers. 

"  There,"  said  Hartmann,  slapping  Latimer  on 
the  shoulder  and  waving  promiscuously  in  the 
dark. 

They  were  now  half  a  mile,  perhaps,  above  the 
meadows.  Latimer  peered  into  the  night  and  saw 
the  vague  forms  of  strange  creatures  which  were 
derricks,  stone-crushers,  road-rollers.  The  pale 
geometrical  lines  and  curves  were  the  avenues  and 
crescents  and  terraces  of  the  newest  Fairview.  He 
caught  the  glint  of  timber  scaffoldings,  and  here 
and  there  the  ghostly  white  face  of  a  mortar-bed; 
squat  forms  which  were  brick  piles;  and  shadowy 
rows  of  angles,  gables,  curves,  which  he  judged  to 
be  the  completed  homes  of  the  Fairview  in  the 
making. 

"  We  have  thirty  houses  ready,"  said  Hartmann. 
"  The  nearest  of  them  is  well  up  above  the  fog 
from  the  meadows.  To-morrow  you  will  see." 

To  the  left,  through  the  side  streets,  Latimer 
had  a  glimpse  of  electric  globes  which  dimmed  the 


In  the  Crucible  173 

quiet  illumination  of  their  own  tree-shaded  road  and 
plainly  outlined  the  principal  commercial  street  of 
Fairview,  running  parallel  with  them.  At  every 
intersection  streams  of  light  ran  down  the  side 
streets  toward  them  from  Fairview's  Great  White 
Way.  He  heard  the  clang  of  a  trolley-car,  the 
noise  of  motors,  the  hum  of  a  community's  con- 
versation en  promenade.  Under  the  arc  lights  he 
caught  glimpses  of  the  gigantic  colored  posters 
which  are  the  mural  art  of  the  movie  age. 

Supper  at  the  Bauers'  was  not  a  prolonged  affair, 
inasmuch  as  Foreman  had  much  business  to  cram 
into  his  two  days'  stay  in  Fairview.  Seven  persons 
sat  down  to  table — our  own  party  of  four,  their 
hosts,  and  a  young  lieutenant  son  in  khaki,  on  a 
short  furlough  from  the  cantonment,  where  he 
was  imparting  to  the  recruits  of  the  national  army 
the  very  fresh  stock  of  military  technique  that  he 
had  acquired  in  three  months  at  Plattsburg. 

In  the  talk  between  Foreman  and  his  boyhood 
friend,  now  one  of  perhaps  a  half  hundred  subor- 
dinates of  the  same  rank  in  the  employ  of  the  In- 
ternational Can  and  Car,  Latimer  was  pleased  to 
find  a  happy  absence  either  of  condescension  or  of 
that  forced  amenity  which  would  have  amounted  to 
exactly  the  same  thing.  Foreman  was  plainly  liv- 


174        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

ing  up  to  his  creed  of  luck  as  the  foundation  of  his 
own  prosperity.  A  turn  of  the  wheel  the  other 
way,  and  Bauer  might  have  been  president  of  the 
International  and  Foreman  one  of  his  useful  assist- 
ants. Of  Bauer's  attitude  one  had  to  judge  by 
manner  rather  than  by  words,  since  it  was  obvi- 
ous from  the  first  that  the  conversation  would  be 
entirely  dominated  by  the  future  field-marshal. 
Mrs.  Bauer  was  a  simple  and  silent  house-mother. 

It  was  inevitable  that  Latimer  should  inquire 
after  the  progress  made  in  the  training  of  Amer- 
ica's new  armies. 

"  We'll  hand  the  Kaiser  his,  all  right,"  said  the 
Second  Lieutenant,  O.R.C.,  "  but  it  won't  be  the 
fault  of  the  people  who  planned  and  built  the 
camps." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  gamps  ?  Health 
arranchements  all  right,  ain't  they?"  sputtered 
Hartmann,  partly  with  indignation,  and  partly  be- 
cause of  a  heavy  spoonful  of  rice  pudding. 

"  You  couldn't  kill  our  fellows  if  you  tried,"  said 
the  second  lieutenant.  "  But  what  our  specialists 
don't  know  about  ventilation  and  drainage  is  quite 
a  little  bit.  You  should  hear  Major  Corbin  tell 
about  the  way  they  do  things  in  France.  I'll  have 
some  more  of  the  pudding,  dad." 


In  the  Crucible  175 

"Do  you  always  get  three  helpings  in  camp?" 
asked  Mr.  Bauer. 

"  The  boy  has  had  very  little,  William,"  said 
Mrs.  Bauer. 

"And  the  spirit  of  our  young  men?"  said 
Latimer. 

"  Nothing  like  it  in  history,"  said  the  lieutenant. 
"  At  least,  not  since  Napoleon's  first  campaigns,  says 
Major  Corbin.  When  we  once  start,  good  night!  " 

"  But  that  is  splendid !  "  cried  Latimer.  Rather 
curtly  he  waved  aside  the  girl  at  his  elbow  who 
was  offering  him  coffee,  and  almost  immediately, 
"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said  and  looked  up  at  her  and 
wondered.  He  judged  her  normally  a  hearty, 
fresh-colored  young  woman  obviously  of  Slav 
origin;  but  now  she  went  about  her  work  as  if  in 
a  daze,  he  thought,  and  there  were  blue  rings 
around  her  eyes.  Then  to  the  young  officer,  "  And 
how  long  will  the  war  last?  "  he  said. 

"  Till  June,  1919,"  said  young  Bauer.  "  Ger- 
many's reserves  will  hold  out  until  then." 

"  You  don't  think  financial  pressure  might  force 
her  to  make  peace  before  then  ?  "  said  Foreman. 

"  Not  in  the  least.  It's  all  a  matter  of  paper 
money.  Major  Corbin  says  it's  all  rot  about  bank- 
ruptcy and  war." 


176        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

Such  other  doubts  concerning  the  issues  and  con- 
tingencies involved  in  the  war  as  may  have  troubled 
any  one  at  the  table,  were  speedily  allayed  by  young 
Bauer  with  the  help  of  Major  Corbin,  before  he 
excused  himself  on  the  plea  that  he  must  return  to 
camp  next  morning,  and  with  his  mother  retired 
for  a  final  review  of  problems  of  the  wardrobe. 

The  other  men  remained  with  their  cigars,  while 
the  maid,  after  the  simple  standards  of  the  Bauer 
household,  busied  herself  with  clearing  the  table. 
Once  more  Latimer  caught  the  unhappy  look  in  her 
eyes,  and  his  gaze  in  turn  did  not  escape  the  atten- 
tion of  Bauer. 

"  The  poor  girl  has  been  crying,"  he  said  when 
she  had  left  the  room.  "  She  heard  from  home 
this  afternoon." 

"Home?"  queried  Latimer. 

"  Somewhere  in  Galician  Poland,"  said  Bauer. 
"  There  were  three  brothers  and  a  mother.  Two 
have  been  killed;  the  youngest  is  in  hospital.  And 
the  mother  is  a  refugee.  I  wonder  " — to  Foreman 
— "  if  the  people  at  Washington  might  help  us 
trace  her." 

"  Wire  to  Golding,"  said  Foreman. 

Business  matters  carried  off  Foreman  and  Hart- 
mann  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  and  Latimer 


In  the  Crucible  177 

gratefully  accepted  Filbert's  offer  of  his  company 
for  a  stroll  through  town.  At  his  own  request  they 
made  their  way  down-hill  toward  the  grim  alleys 
of  which  he  had  caught  just  an  impression.  It  was 
some  time  after  the  supper-hour  in  Fairview.  The 
doorsteps  and  porches  showed  groups  of  bare- 
armed  and  collarless  men  gossiping  from  between 
lips  tightly  wrapped  round  the  stem  of  corncobs. 
Among  the  elder  people  the  segregation  of  the 
sexes  was  strictly  observed,  and  there  were  sepa- 
rate groups  of  women,  in  the  front  yards  and  on 
the  kitchen-steps,  each  the  centre  of  bands  of  infant 
skirmishers  who  flooded  over  the  sidewalks  and 
into  the  shadows.  They  should  have  been  in  bed 
an  hour  ago,  thought  Latimer,  disapproving;  but 
he  rejoiced  in  the  vitality  of  their  shrill  voices. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  quickly  and 
stopped  short,  peering  down  straight  at  his  feet. 
He  had  nearly  fallen  over  a  youth  of  perhaps  three 
years,  sex  not  stated,  who,  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  was  calmly  planted  in  a  child's-size  arm- 
chair. Whereupon  the  young  native  rose,  with  the 
chair  permanently  affixed  behind,  trotted  off,  and 
resumed  his  contemplation  on  another  section  of 
the  pavement. 

Latimer   was    discovering   in   Fairview   a   new 


178        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

world  which  he  might  have  studied  any  day  in 
New  York  City,  if  chance  had  brought  him  into 
the  proper  quarters  for  observation.  But  that  is 
always  the  case  with  foreign  travel. 

And  then,  suddenly,  Latimer  felt  depression  set- 
tling down  on  him.  Probably  it  was  mere  physical 
weariness,  but  an  ache  seized  upon  his  heart. 

"Where  is  all  this  to  end,  Filbert?"  he  said. 
"Is  this  life?" 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Filbert  quietly,  "  of 
the  settlers  in  the  Ohio  bottoms  about  the  year 
1800.  Have  you  ever  read  Henry  Adams's  first 
chapter?" 

"  Pioneers  ?  "  said  Latimer,  embracing  Fairview 
in  one  sweep  of  the  arm. 

"  I  like  to  believe  so,"  said  Filbert. 

Latimer  put  his  arm  over  the  other  man's 
shoulder. 

"  I  want  you  to  forgive  me,  Filbert." 

"For  what?" 

"  For  that  brutal  remark  of  mine  about  the 
efficiency  expert  and  the  stenographers." 

Filbert  laughed. 

"  Dr.  Latimer,  I  never  gave  it  a  thought  and 
should  have  forgotten  it  by  this  time  if  I  had." 

"  Then   my   apology   is   what   you   would   tech- 


In  the  Crucible  179 

nically  describe  as  a  lost  motion?"  said  Latimer. 
"  Let  us  turn  into  Main  Street." 

But  at  the  first  corner  in  that  dazzling  thorough- 
fare, Latimer  stopped  and  pointed  excitedly  to  a 
poster  in  front  of  a  movie  theatre. 

"  Miss  Winthrop,"  he  said. 

"  I've  seen  her  frequently — on  the  screen  that 
is,"  said  Filbert. 

"  I  have  met  her  in  person,"  said  Latimer,  try- 
ing hard  not  to  be  supercilious. 

"  Oh ! "  said  Filbert,  with  something  like  awe. 
"  Should  you  like  to  go  in  ?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Latimer ;  and  then,  turn- 
ing abruptly,  raised  his  hat  in  the  direction  of  a 
group  of  young  girls  who  fell  into  line  behind 
them. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said;  and  turned  back  to  his 
companion. 

"  An  acquaintance  in  Fairview  ?  "  said  Filbert. 

"  It's  that  housemaid  at  the  Bauers'." 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  CONSCIENTIOUS  OBJECTOR 

THE  next  afternoon  found  Latimer  one  of  the 
crowd  that  jammed  the  sidewalk  on  both  sides  of 
Main  Street,  doing  his  share  toward  making 
Patriot  Day  in  Fairview  a  success.  The  factories 
had  let  out  for  the  event  which  was  to  begin  as  a 
parade  and  culminate  in  a  flag-raising  over  the  un- 
finished Social  Hall.  In  the  throng  he  had  lost 
both  Hartmann  and  Filbert.  The  president  of  the 
International  Can  and  Car  was  drafted  for  con- 
spicuous and  hazardous  duty  on  the  speaker's  plat- 
form, and  had  disappeared  soon  after  breakfast  in 
a  state  of  intense  calm  and  a  silk  hat,  but  not  until 
he  had  solicited  Latimer's  candid  opinion  on  a 
manuscript  of  the  speech  that  was  to  accompany 
the  presentation  of  the  flag. 

At  this  precise  moment  when  Latimer  found 
himself  alone  in  the  crowd,  the  procession  was  half 
over.  A  National  Guard  regiment,  borrowed  for 
the  occasion  from  the  capital,  had  led  the  march, 

followed  by  the  fire  companies,  the  Civic  League, 

1 80 


The  Conscientious  Objector          181 

the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  the  Veterans  of  '98, 
and  the  children  from  the  primary  grades.  One 
of  the  ever  mysterious  pauses  which  make  a  parade 
so  excellent  an  example  of  dramatic  suspense  now 
ensued.  The  Home  Guard,  the  borrowed  Coast 
Defense  Company,  and  the  Junior  Scout  contin- 
gents were  yet  to  pass  in  review.  It  was  the 
interim  when  processional  crowds  divide  their  time 
between  craning  their  necks  for  the  first  view  of 
the  oncoming  lines  and  saluting  friends  in  the 
upper  windows. 

Latimer  strolled  down  a  side  street  for  a  bit  of 
shoulder  room  and  air.  He  was  flushed  and 
tremulous.  He  was  at  all  times  susceptible  to  the 
sound  and  sight  of  marching  feet.  In  town,  the 
shuffle  of  the  crowd  on  the  platforms  of  the 
Elevated,  the  swirl  of  the  evening  migration  on 
lower  Broadway,  regularly  carried  him  away  on  a 
tide  of  vast  yearnings,  of  passionate  identification 
with  multitudes  of  men  of  whom,  individually,  he 
was  afraid.  This  afternoon,  at  Fairview,  as  he 
watched  the  fighting  men  go  by,  generously  spaced 
to  make  the  most  out  of  the  meagre  resources  in 
hand,  he  caught  himself  thinking  how  there,  in 
Europe,  myriads  were  moving  in  solid  ranks,  com- 
pared with  whom  this  was  but  a  tragic  handful. 


182        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

He  thought  of  the  German  columns  pouring  across 
the  Dvina,  towards  the  Isonzo,  into  Rumania.  The 
odds  against  us  were  appalling,  when  one  stopped 
to  calculate  in  cold  blood,  but  he  was  not  in  cold 
blood.  He  was  proud  and  confident.  Fairview's 
procession  of  2,000  men  and  children  was  a  suffi- 
cient answer  to  the  German  challenge.  But  he 
must  not  think  of  the  war. 

Half  way  down  the  block  from  Main  Street,  he 
halted.  Outside  the  doorway  of  a  garage  some  one 
was  standing  tiptoe  on  a  soap  box  and  straining 
his  eyes  all  the  way  towards  Main  Street  and  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd  for  a  glimpse  of  what 
might  be  going  on.  It  was  an  absurd  procedure, 
thought  Latimer.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent 
the  man  from  taking  his  stand  close  behind  the 
crowd,  whence  from  his  soap  box,  he  could  easily 
dominate  the  situation.  And  odd  again,  it  was  not 
the  type  of  man  who  usually  watches  parades  from 
a  soap  box.  He  was,  for  Fairview,  exceedingly 
well  dressed;  he  was  obviously  not  of  the  factory 
crowd,  nor  yet  of  the  store-keeping  crowd.  He 
should  be  sitting  behind  a  law  desk,  perhaps  at  a 
directors'  table,  and  that  not  in  Fairview,  but  in 
the  city.  Latimer  was  puzzled  by  the  complex  of 
furtiveness,  despondency,  and  indifference  in  the 


The  Conscientious  Objector          183 

man.     His  lips  were  tight  drawn.     And  in  his  eye 
a  gleam  of — 

Defiance?  Yes,  thought  Latimer,  but  depres- 
sion too.  The  stranger  stood  aloof  from  the  crowd 
out  of  choice,  yet  the  crowd  drew  him.  He  re- 
sisted, but  there  was  pain  in  the  effort. 

"  I  wonder  if  we  are  in  the  same  mood," 
Latimer  addressed  him.  "  The  thing  tears  at 
me." 

The  stranger  turned  on  his  rostrum,  and 
frowned. 

"How?"  he  said. 

"  These  marching  men  get  into  my  blood,  yet  I 
find  it  hard  to  bear,"  said  Latimer. 

The  stranger  jumped  from  the  soap  box.  "  Then 
you  don't  approve  of  our  being  in  this  thing?"  he 
demanded. 

Latimer  flamed  up,  and  shivered  at  the  same 
time. 

"  It  is  a  righteous  war  and  inevitable.  I  would 
not  have  it  end — but  I  am  under  doctor's  orders. 
I  must  not  talk.  Still  you,  as  a  resident  of  Fair- 
view — " 

His  companion  was  now  leaning  against  the 
lintel  of  the  doorway  with  his  hands  thrust  deep 
in  his  pockets  and  his  eyes  on  the  sidewalk. 


184        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  I  am  not  popular  on  Main  Street,"  he  said;  and 
then,  defiantly,  "  There  is  no  righteous  war." 

Latimer  remembered  doctor's  orders.  He  spoke 
quietly : 

"  Pardon  me,  it  is  a  hackneyed  term,  but  with 
you  it  is  a  matter  of — 

"Conscience?  Yes.  You  will  now  refuse  to  be 
seen  talking  to  me?" 

Latimer  shook  his  head. 

"  There  are  so  many  matters  on  which  I  don't 
know  my  own  soul.  How  shall  I  pass  judgment 
on  yours  ?  " 

"  Ah,  then  you  do  understand?  " 

"  With  my  mind,  yes,"  said  Latimer.  "  But  not 
with  my  heart.  I  cannot  imagine  myself  in  your 
place.  But  I  can  recognize  your  place  in  the  gen- 
eral scheme  of  things,  if  that  is  any  comfort." 

"  That  is  all  I  ask,"  said  the  other.  "  Only  do 
me  this  much  justice:  Don't  imagine  that  I  think 
myself  holier  than  my  neighbor.  Don't  say  of  us 
that  we  have  set  ourselves  apart  from  the  common 
ruck  of  mankind  as  a  little  band  of  the  select  for 
whom  is  reserved  the  building  of  the  new  world. 
I  am  not  thinking  of  the  future  but  of  to-day.  I 
am  to-day  what  I  cannot  help  being,  just  as  my 
neighbors  are  what  they  are.  Which  of  us  shall 


The  Conscientious  Objector          185 

prevail  let  the  future  decide.  My  own  belief  is 
that  neither  of  us  will  prevail,  but  that  the  future 
will  be  what  it  will  be,  to  some  extent,  because  I  am 
what  I  am  now." 

"  You  have  felt  the  penalties  ?  "  said  Latimer. 

"  That's  a  matter  of  course,"  and  Latimer  was 
pleased  with  the  lack  of  bravado  or  false  humility. 

"Ostracism?" 

"  Naturally." 

"  Persecution?    Bodily  jeopardy?  " 

"  It  may  come  to  that.  My  business  has  of 
course  gone  to  the  devil.  I  am  an  architect.  Gil- 
bert's the  name.  The  Social  Hall,  where  the  flag 
is  going  up — I  built  it." 

Latimer's  hand  went  out. 

"  I'm  sorry.    And  it  hurts  ?  " 

Gilbert  held  the  other's  hand  wistfully. 

"  It  hurts.    Yet  it  doesn't  matter." 

"  In  a  case  like  yours  there  is  only  one  thing  that 
really  hurts  and  really  does  matter,"  said  Latimer. 
"  And  that  is  doubt.  Does  it  come  ?  " 

"  It  does,"  said  Gilbert,  studying  the  sidewalk. 

"  Not  from  without  ?  " 

Gilbert  waved  the  outer  world  aside. 

"  It  hurts  if  friends  won't  speak  to  me.  I  have 
been  pitched  out  of  the  club — I  built  the  clubhouse. 


1 86        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

The  local  paper  calls  me  Herr  Gilbert.  But  that 
is  nothing.  But  when  I  see  a  splendid  new  world 
being  born  out  of  this  war  that  I  hate,  then  I  am 
shaken." 

On  Main  Street  the  fife  and  drum  struck  up;  a 
crackle  of  cheers  signaled  the  resumption  of  the 
march,  and  the  rear  ranks  of  the  crowd,  the  two 
could  see,  surged  forward. 

"  I  want  very  much  to  witness  the  end  of  the 
procession,"  said  Latimer,  and  hesitated. 

Gilbert  threw  up  his  head. 

"  I  have  not  surrendered  my  right  to  look  upon 
the  flag,  and  I  dare  say  for  the  moment  people  will 
not  be  interested  in  me.  Come  on." 

"  I  suggest  your  bringing  the  soap  box,"  said 
Latimer. 

Once  only,  as  the  Home  Guard  was  passing, 
Latimer  ventured  to  glance  at  his  companion  and 
found  him  looking  straight  before  him,  his  eyes 
slightly  puckered  up,  though  there  was  no  sun  to 
speak  of.  After  the  Home  Guards  there  was 
another  delay. 

"You  were  saying?"  asked  Latimer  without 
turning  around. 

"  I  was  saying  that  I  can  reply  to  others  but  can- 
not always  answer  myself,"  Gilbert  spoke  in  a  dry 


The  Conscientious  Objector          187 

clipped  tone.  "  This  war  which  I  hate  has  already 
put  the  world  fifty  years  ahead.  Ideals  which  have 
been  dear  to  me,  perhaps  because  they  seemed  so 
far  away,  are  blossoming  into  life  under  the  warm 
rain  of  blood.  I  am  originally  New  England, 
Calvinist  and  crank.  I  was  brought  up  to  think 
of  liquor  in  terms  of  damnation.  The  war  is  wip- 
ing out  booze.  I  believe  in  the  perfect  equality  of 
women.  The  war  is  now  enfranchising  and  liber- 
ating them.  I  have  always  hoped  to  see  Labor 
come  into  its  own,  and  the  insanities  of  our  com- 
petitive system  cured  out  of  existence.  The  war 
will  probably  put  the  working  men  in  the  saddle. 
I  believe  with  all  my  heart  in  democracy,  and 
the  war  is  cutting  a  red  furrow  across  the 
earth  for  the  harvest  of  democracy.  The  damn 
fools!" 

"  Meaning  whom  ?  "  said  Latimer. 

"  Meaning  the  asses  who  think  they  can  hurt  me 
or  frighten  me  by  driving  me  from  the  clubs  and 
into  bankruptcy;  making  things  impossible  for  my 
wife  at  home  and  the  children  in  school;  and  in- 
viting me  to  go  home  to  the  Kaiser.  But  I'd  like 
to  see  the  horsewhip  that  can  hurt  like  the  black 
doubts  which  come  at  night.  Then  the  Enemy 
shows  me  all  these  wonderful  things  that  I  have 


1 88        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

longed  for,  in  a  wonderful  new  world,  and  asks 
why  haggle  about  the  price." 

"Well  then?"  said  Latimer. 

"  I  stick,"  said  Gilbert  and  stared  ahead  more 
intently  than  ever. 

The  Junior  Scouts  were  now  passing  in  the  full 
panoply  of  khaki  and  arms,  and  ever  so  much  bet- 
ter drilled  than  their  elders  of  the  Home  Guard. 
And  at  the  sight  of  those  miniature  martial  legs 
swinging  in  unison,  and  the  young  faces  fixed  in 
chubby  ferocity,  Latimer  felt  his  throat  tighten, 
and  his  eyes  grow  dim.  He  had  seen  them  before, 
in  peace  times,  these  infant  masqueraders  and  they 
were  then  what  the  women  in  the  crowd  had  called 
them,  "  cute,  the  dears."  But  now — now — mas- 
querade? No!  Another  two  years  of  war  and 
some  of  these  infants — 

He  felt  his  arm  caught  fast  in  a  clutch  that  stung 
and  shook.  He  knew  what  was  coming,  before  Gil- 
bert broke  out: 

"  This  is  horrible !  All  over  the  world  children 
are  marching  with  rifles!  Who  has  thrust  rifles 
into  their  hands?  Who  is  it  that  has  laid  his  curse 
on  the  future?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  said  Latimer  gently.  "  1 
think  I  do." 


The  Conscientious  Objector          189 

"  If  one  were  only  certain,"  and  Latimer  saw 
the  man's  fists  clench  at  his  side. 

"  Then  what  ?  Surely  not  violence,  Gilbert  ? 
Not  vengeance?  Not  war?" 

"  I  am  only  human,"  said  Gilbert.  "  Look  at 
them!  Babies!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 
LATIMER  CONVALESCENT 

ON  the  third  day  of  his  sojourn  in  Fairview,  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Latimer  found  him- 
self. With  the  cure,  there  came  a  sudden  onset  of 
homesickness  which  would  immediately  have  put 
him  on  board  a  train  for  the  city,  in  utter  disre- 
gard of  the  state  of  his  wardrobe  and  sister  Har- 
riet's feelings,  if  Hartmann  had  not  interposed  a 
plea.  The  two  others  had  departed  the  day  before 
for  points  south  and  west,  but  the  doctor  still  had 
several  wearisome  truths  to  impress  on  a  Board 
of  Health  which  was  "  audomatically  "  impervious 
to  common  sense.  If  Latimer  would  wait  over- 
night, they  could  go  down  to  the  city  together  in 
Foreman's  car,  which  the  magnate  had  left  at 
Hartmann's  disposal.  The  harrowing  picture  of 
Hartmann  on  a  lonely  trip  to  New  York,  sketched 
by  that  good  man  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
was  more  than  Latimer  could  bear.  He  would 
wait. 

And  another  reason  was  that  Latimer  felt  the 
190 


Latimer  Convalescent  191 

need  of  atonement.  Of  the  three  days  in  Fairview, 
to  Hartmann's  chagrin,  Latimer  had  devoted  just 
two  hours  to  the  new  model  town.  Try  as  he 
would,  his  interest  in  the  architect's  plans  for  the 
great  Social  Hall  and  the  Foreman  Hospital  would 
not  bubble.  After  he  had  several  times  failed  to 
distinguish  between  the  blue  prints  for  the  drainage 
and  those  for  the  water-mains  system,  Hartmann 
sorrowfully  abandoned  him.  Thereupon  Latimer 
joyfully  turned  his  back  on  the  Elizabethan  town 
on  the  hill,  and  spent  his  hours  until  far  into  the 
night  in  the  streets  of  that  other  Fairview  which 
in  another  six  months  would  be  no  more,  but 
which  drew  him  poignantly  to  its  malodorous,  un- 
sanitary self. 

It  was  precisely  the  difference  between  life  and 
a  blue-print  that  held  him.  He  knew  it  was  unjust 
to  Foreman  and  his  model  town  that  he  should 
be  thinking  of  him  as  tinkering  upon  a  new  kind 
of  machine;  yet  there  was  the  feeling.  Even  Hart- 
mann, for  all  the  humane  emotion  that  drove  his 
bulky  frame  to  action,  was  engaged  upon  a  project, 
a  problem,  and  therefore  a  formula.  The  pity  of 
it,  that  as  soon  as  you  have  more  than  one  man 
to  face,  you  are  no  longer  dealing  with  souls,  but 
with  problems. 


192        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

There  were  no  problems  in  the  unkempt  streets 
of  the  old  town  on  the  edge  of  the  flats;  that  is,  to 
the  people  who  lived  amid  the  landscaped  family 
wash,  gossiped  from  windows,  or  gave  utterance 
to  sententious  truths  from  around  slow-burning 
corncobs.  They  were  to  themselves  an  end  in 
themselves.  They  were  not  class-conscious,  or 
church-conscious,  or  conscious  of  anything  but  the 
regular  beat  of  an  ancient  routine.  The  sense  of 
depression  which  attacked  Lorimer  during  that 
first  walk  with  Filbert  had  vanished  overnight.  He 
felt  no  need  to  idealize  these  people  as  the  van- 
guard of  a  cleanlier  and  more  prosperous  genera- 
tion. They  were  sufficient  for  the  day,  without  the 
apology  of  galvanic  cabbage-patch  humor  and  sun- 
shine-alley sentiment.  They  were  ultimate  and 
serene. 

"  Blessed  are  the  poor,"  thought  Latimer,  "  for 
they  shall  not  keep  up  appearances.  Neither  must 
they  read  the  books  that  are  written  about  them.'* 

On  the  third  morning  of  his  stay  at  Fairview  he 
was  escorted  through  the  Intercontinental  shops  by 
Bauer  himself.  Latimer  had  hitherto  thought  of 
Labor  in  terms  of  Meunier  and  Pennell;  of  half- 
naked  men  sweating  in  the  heat  of  blast  furnaces, 
or  strained  out  of  human  semblances  under  enor- 


Latimer  Convalescent  193 

mous  weights  and  masses.  What  he  really  saw  in 
this  particular  factory  were  long  cathedral  aisles  of 
machinery.  He  heard  singing  wheels  and  the 
drone  of  belting.  And  here  or  there  was  a  worker 
bending  over  his  tool-bench  in  scholarly  contempla- 
tion of  a  nondescript  bit  of  metal,  like  Carrel  over 
his  test-tubes. 

Latimer  recalled  the  wonder  that  always  pos- 
sessed him  at  home,  when  he  stopped  to  peer  down 
into  excavations  where  men  groped  about  in  a 
crazy  network  of  mains  and  conduits,  or  when  he 
looked  up  to  the  steel  girders  swinging  into  place 
on  the  new  skyscrapers.  Only  now  and  then  would 
he  catch  sight  of  a  heavy  sledge  in  play,  or  the 
heave  of  muscles.  As  a  rule  men  moved  about  in 
the  tangle  of  cloaca  as  if  engaged  in  an  elaborate 
minuet.  He  saw  men  poised  on  the  end  of  a  steel 
beam  go  through  a  graceful  calisthenics,  with  a 
measured  wave  of  the  arm,  now  this  way,  now  that 
way,  thirty  stories  above  the  sidewalks.  Yet  the 
subways  got  themselves  dug,  and  the  pavements 
were  laid, — and  torn  up  again, — and  the  skyscraper 
grew  a  couple  of  stories  overnight.  He  wondered 
at  the  serenity  of  labor. 

They  stopped  to  watch  a  middle-aged  man  in 
overalls  filing  away  at  a  longish  piece  of  steel  which 


194        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

for  the  life  of  him  Latimer  could  not  identify. 
Bauer  told  him  it  was  part  of  the  mechanism  of  a 
field-gun,  which  would  be  carried  through  an  indefi- 
nite number  of  processes  here  at  Fairview,  and  then 
would  be  shipped  somewhere  else  for  justification, 
and  would  then  go  partly  by  water  and  partly  by 
rail  somewhere  else,  where  the  gun  would  be 
assembled;  after  which  the  gun  would  be  tested, 
approved,  checked  up,  and  shipped — somewhere 
else. 

Latimer  shook  with  impatience  at  the  deliberate, 
precise  arm-motions  of  the  man  at  the  bench. 
"  Out  there,"  he  saw  little  groups  of  weird  man- 
nikins,  in  a  smear  of  fog  and  mud  and  blood,  claw- 
ing into  the  sides  of  a  crater  under  the  counter- 
barrage  of  the  Prussians,  and  praying  for  the  guns 
which  they  had  outrun.  But  the  guns  were  stuck 
fast  in  the  Flanders  slime,  and  the  crew  were 
breaking  their  backs  under  the  wheel-hubs,  and  the 
drivers  were  lashing  away  at  the  horses. 

"  For  God's  sake  hurry !  "  Latimer  cried  out  in 
an  inward  agony,  as  the  Fairview  worker  picked 
up  a  wad  of  cotton  waste  and  studiously  polished 
off  the  metal  joint  he  was  dallying  with.  One,  two, 
three;  one,  two,  three — while  the  sweat  was  on 
Latimer's  face. 


Latimer  Convalescent  195 

And  then,  in  a  moment,  he  understood  that  here 
in  Fairview  and  there  near  Ypres  men  were  work- 
ing, while  he,  Latimer,  was  only  rasping  the  nerve- 
strings  of  his  own  soul.  Why,  of  course:  the  gun 
crew  in  Flanders  was  probably  standing  about 
quietly  debating  the  best  way  of  getting  the  wheels 
out  of  the  mud.  A  man  was  hurrying  across  fields 
for  a  plank.  The  second  lieutenant  was  simul- 
taneously trying  to  establish  telephone  communica- 
tions with  battery  headquarters  and  to  borrow  a 
cigarette.  And  this  gun  now  in  the  making  at 
Fairview  would  be  six  months  in  reaching  the 
front.  Latimer  saw  the  machinist  reach  for  a 
gauge  of  some  sort  and  adjust  it  with  infinite  con- 
templation; and  there  came  to  him  a  great  calm. 

"  I  am  cured,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  I  beg  pardon  ?  "  Bauer  wondered. 

"  I  was  saying  that  I  shall  probably  take  the 
night  train  for  New  York,"  said  Latimer.  "  This 
has  been  supremely  instructive." 

But  as  we  have  seen,  Hartmann  prevailed  with 
him  to  wait  till  the  following  morning,  whereupon 
Latimer  telegraphed  notice  of  his  imminent  return 
to  his  wife,  and  his  excuses  to  sister  Harriet. 
But  to  Manning  and  the  promised  visit  he  held 
himself  pledged.  Manning  lay  on  the  direct  road 


196        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

to  the  city,  and  it  would  be  only  decent  to  drop  in 
for  a  moment  to  explain. 

Hartmann's  professed  lack  of  interest  in  the 
"  meganism "  of  the  automobile  had  no  relation 
whatever  to  his  ability  in  the  driver's  seat  or  a 
pretty  taste  for  eating  up  the  road.  Partly  it  was 
the  rebound  from  the  strain  of  three  days'  negotia- 
tions with  the  Fairview  Board  of  Health,  made  up 
exclusively  of  "  unmidigated  tonkeys." 

Only  twenty-four  hours  ago  the  needle  on  the 
speedometer  would  have  caused  Latimer  intense 
anxiety.  Now  the  flush  of  new-found  health  was 
coursing  in  him,  and  he  was  inclined  to  regard 
Hartmann  as  an  unnecessarily  timid  driver.  At 
intervals  he  burst  into  song;  whereat  Hartmann 
sneered  bitterly,  until  such  a  time  as  a  succession 
of  clear  stretches  of  roadway  permitted  him  to 
join  in  with  a  dreadful  howl  which,  he  explained 
to  Latimer,  was  the  first  verse  of  Gaudeamus.  In 
the  course  of  the  next  three  hours  he  sang  that  first 
verse  thirteen  times,  but,  he  told  Latimer,  by  no 
means  as  well  as  he  used  to  do  it  thirty  years  ago. 

For  some  time  Latimer  had  been  expectantly 
studying  the  countryside,  and  there  it  was :  an  ugly 
iron  bridge,  a  willow  by  the  road  not  far  from 


Latimer  Convalescent  197 

the  river-bank,  a  flat  rock  jutting  out  into  the  water, 
a  white  church  steeple — they  were  entering  West- 
ville,  to  be  sure. 

"  Hartmann,"  he  said,  "  do  you  mind  stopping 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour?" 

"  Stretch  your  legs,  hey  ?  All  right.  I  think  I 
can  recall  the  second  verse." 

"  There  is  a  sick  woman  here.  Will  you  look 
at  her?" 

Hartmann  threw  up  his  hands. 

"  How  can  I  ?    Without  being  asked  ?  " 

"  Unquestionably  you  can  satisfy  yourself  with- 
out a  formal  examination.  To  that  purpose  I  have 
devised  the  necessary  fiction,"  said  Latimer,  and 
from  his  pocket  he  drew  a  box  of  chocolates  which 
he  had  purchased  at  Fairview.  "  We  stop  off 
merely  to  leave  this  for  the  little  girl,  with  whom 
I  am  on  established  terms.  You  accompany  me 
reluctantly.  If  you  need  a  little  more  time  for 
consideration,  we  may  ask  for  a  glass  of  milk." 

They  found  the  family  around  the  kitchen-steps. 
The  woman  was  rinsing  clothes  between  two  tubs. 
The  husband  was  dreamily  improvising  over  the 
repair  of  an  intricate  piece  of  fishing-gear,  with  the 
little  one  at  his  side.  The  three  severally  responded 
to  the  unexpected  visitors.  In  the  woman's  eyes 


198        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

there  was  wonder.  In  the  little  one's,  a  bright 
scrutiny  which  searched  Latimer's  person  and  set- 
tled with  a  triumph  of  intuition  upon  the  candy- 
box  in  his  hand.  The  man  saw  in  Hartmann  the 
longed-for  purchaser  of  this  country  home  that  he 
hated ;  he  saw  release  and — town  again. 

"  As  we  came  by  it  occurred  to  me,"  said  Lati- 
mer,  and  developed  his  lie  with  sufficient  manful- 
ness;  nevertheless  the  conversation  dragged. 

"  The  little  one  should  be  at  school,"  he  said. 

"  Teacher's  sick,"  announced  the  child  gleefully. 

"  Such  a  school  as  it  is,"  said  the  woman  with 
the  first  sign  of  discontent  that  Latimer  recalled 
in  her.  Pause;  and  they  all  turned  to  watch  the 
child  in  her  tour  of  exploration  through  the  candy 
box. 

"  You  can  give  us  a  glass  of  milk,"  said  Hart- 
mann, "  right  where  we  are  ?  " 

"  Sam,"  she  said;  and  the  man  buoyed  up  by  a 
great  hope,  started  off  with  unwonted  energy 
toward  the  spring  where  the  milk  was  cooling.  His 
wife  went  into  the  kitchen  to  wipe  her  dripping 
arms. 

"  You  find  the  symptoms  ?  "  whispered  Latimer, 
hoping  against  knowledge. 

"The   most   consbicuous    symptom,    yes,"    said 


Latimer  Convalescent  199 

Hartmann  sullenly,  and  nodded  toward  the  man 
crouching  over  the  spring.  "  He  needs  a  regular 
job." 

"  There  should  be  a  regular  job  for  him  at  Fair- 
view,"  said  Latimer.  "  And  for  her,  one  of  your 
new  houses.  They  could  let  this  place.  It  would 
pay  them  to  abandon  it." 

'  You  are  a  disindegrating  sendimentalist,  friend 
Latimer,"  grumbled  the  other.  "  Make  the  offer. 
I  will  see  to  it." 

But  the  woman  shook  her  head.  "  Sam  is  not 
strong  enough  for  a  factory."  What  she  was 
thinking,  of  course,  was  that  her  man  was  not 
strong  enough  for  the  temptations  of  town.  "  We 
came  out  here  because  it  was  better  for  me." 
Again  she  was  lying. 

"  Much  bedder  for  you,  a  glean  small  house  with 
windows  and  a  good  kitchen,"  burst  out  Hart- 
mann. "  You  should  not  work." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  Latimer  despaired. 
Then  an  inspiration  came. 

"  For  the  little  one  there  will  be  an  ideal  school, 
playgrounds,  a  swimming  pool,  games,  theatricals." 
He  tried  to  speak  with  the  nonchalance  of  a  well- 
bred  catalogue. 

"  A  good  school  ?  "  she  said,  looking  up  in  haste. 


2OO        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

"  Equal  to  the  best  private  schools  in  the  coun- 
try," said  Hartmann. 

She  looked  back  toward  her  husband,  stared 
down  at  the  child,  and  yielded. 

"We'll  be  ready  for  you  in  another  month," 
Hartmann  told  her. 

"  We  will  come,"  she  said;  and  of  her  own  initia- 
tive held  out  her  hand  to  Latimer.  "  Thank 
you,"  she  said,  and  her  eyelids  trembled. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
CRIMINOLOGY 

WHAT  more  natural  than  the  warm  afterglow  of 
self-approval  which  descended  upon  our  two  trav- 
elers as  they  climbed  back  into  the  car?  To  Lati- 
mer's  suggestion  that  Hartmann  now  "  let  her 
out,"  the  reply  was  a  shrug  of  resentment  at  super- 
fluous advice,  followed  by  a  silent  "  Watch  me ! " 
The  motor  sang  like  a  telegraph  wire  in  the  wind. 
They  reconstructed  the  second  verse  of  Gaudeamus 
out  of  their  joint  and  fragmentary  memories,  and 
shouted  it  to  the  flying  landscape.  Between  spasms 
of  harmony  Latimer  lit  two  cigarettes,  keeping  one 
for  his  own  use  and  inserting  the  other,  after  a 
few  preliminary  puffs,  between  Hartmann's  lips. 
As  the  wind  and  the  sun  poured  into  his  veins, 
Latimer  removed  his  golf-cap  and  put  it  on  again 
with  the  peak  on  the  nape  of  his  neck,  like  the  pic- 
tures of  Barney  Oldfield  in  the  Sunday  Supplement. 
He  was  seized  with  a  vast  pity  for  the  proletariat 
of  the  four-cylinder  cars  whom  they  overtook  and 
passed  with  a  swirl  and  an  occasional  ironic  wave 

aoi 


2O2        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

of  the  hand.  He  found  his  thoughts  running  to 
roadsters,  sedans,  town  cars.  He  pumped  oil  with 
more  ardor  than  precision. 

With  this  result:  that  they  took  the  wrong  turn 
just  beyond  Westville,  and  when  Latimer  began 
looking  for  the  cross-road  where  he  had  met 
Margaret,  they  were  just  twenty-one  miles  out  of 
their  way.  But  more  than  that.  As  they  flashed 
by  a  sign-post  announcing  the  town  limits  of 
Greensborough  and  made  a  sudden  corner,  Hart- 
mann  had  to  throw  all  his  weight  into  the  brakes 
to  avert  collision  with  a  uniformed  figure  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  waving  the  conventional  open 
palm. 

"  What's  wrong  ?  "  said  Hartmann,  as  innocently 
as  a  German  chancellor  on  Belgium. 

"  Thirty-five  miles  an  hour's  the  matter,"  said 
the  constable. 

Hartmann  shouted, — 

"  At  dirty-five  miles  an  hour  I  should  have  been 
through  your  tinky  liddle  town  before  I  had 
endered  it.  This  is  an  oudrage !  " 

"  You  can  explain  that  to  the  jedge,"  said  the 
officer.  "  That  is,  if  he  ain't  away  for  his  dinner. 
Give  me  a  lift  an'  I'll  show  you  where  we  turn  in." 

The  subsequent  colloquy  was  futile. 


Criminology  203 

Greensborough's  court-house  occupied  one  wing 
of  an  imposing  pile  of  municipal  brickwork  which 
their  captor  designated  as  the  town  workhouse. 
A  progressive  community  spirit  spoke  in  well-paved 
streets,  ornamental  lamp-posts,  plate-glass  store 
fronts  on  Main  Street,  and  three  moving-picture 
theatres  within  two  blocks.  Still,  it  was  a  wonder 
why  so  small  a  place  as  Greensborough  should 
stand  in  need  of  such  elaborate  prison  facilities. 

"  Now  if  it  were  a  loonadic  asylum,  I  could 
understand,"  remarked  Hartmann  with  vicious  in- 
tent; "but  a  chail— " 

They  found  the  court-room  deserted.  The 
"  jedge,"  then,  was  at  dinner,  unless,  it  occurred  to 
the  constable,  the  jedge  might  be  in  the  "  labber- 
tory."  He  pronounced  the  word  with  unmistakable 
pride  in  his  mastery  of  the  term  and  equal  con- 
tempt for  the  thing  it  described. 

"  Laboratory  ?  "  said  Hartmann.  "  Lead  the 
way." 

They  marched  through  a  confusion  of  wainscoted 
corridor  and  stopped  before  the  open  door  of  what 
Latimer  might  easily  have  accepted  for  the  psy- 
chological experimentation  room  at  his  old  college, 
except  that  everything  was  varnish-new  and  the 
sunlight  came  in  cheerily  through  the  window. 


204        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

A  gray-haired  young  man,  bending  over  a  desk, 
raised  his  head  and  smiled  inquiringly,  a  little 
innocently  Latimer  thought,  through  horn-rimmed 
spectacles. 

"  Dr.  Wheeling,"  said  the  constable,  with  a  semi- 
military  curtness  which  was  at  the  same  time  a 
salute  and  an  introduction. 

Latimer  hastened  to  explain. 

"  We  are  in  search  of  the  officiating  magistrate, 
having  been  apprehended  on  the  absurd  charge  of 
violating  the  traffic  regulations  by  an  official  whose 
zeal  we  can  commend  more  easily  than  his  intelli- 
gence." 

Dr.  Wheeling  was  sympathetic. 

"  Judge  Pomeroy  will  not  be  back  for  some  time, 
I  regret  to  say." 

"  He  takes  dinner  at  home,  of  course?" 

"  To  be  precise,  no,"  replied  the  prison  doctor. 
"  The  fact  is,  his  Honor  at  this  moment  is  some 
distance  out  in  the  country  inspecting  a  prize  milch- 
cow  with  a  view  to  purchase." 

"  That  would  be  Al  Thomas's  Jersey,"  observed 
the  constable. 

"Exactly,"  said  Wheeling.  "Won't  you  be 
seated  ?  " 

"  But   that  is   imbossible,"   shouted   Hartmann ; 


Criminology  205 

and  to  their  captor,  "  Come  along  and  help  us  hunt 
up  your  judge.  I'll  make  it  worth  your  while." 

The  constable  hesitated,  and  Latimer,  to  bridge 
the  pause,  did  the  polite  thing. 

"  You  have  here  an  admirably  equipped  institu- 
tion," he  remarked;  and  his  tone  was  the  con- 
noisseur's. 

Wheeling  beamed  at  him  through  his  goggles. 
"  It's  a  very  decent  plant  for  a  town  of  our 
size." 

"  It  is  my  surmise,"  said  Latimer,  "  that  this 
very  impressive  penal  establishment  has  been  built 
around  your  laboratory,  Dr.  Wheeling,  and  not  the 
other  way  about." 

The  doctor  stared  in  amazement.  "  How  could 
you  have  guessed  ?  " 

"  Shall  we  call  it  intuition  ? "  smiled  Latimer. 
"  When  I  am  in  the  presence  of  the  scientific  spirit 
I  know  it.  My  name  is  Latimer." 

Wheeling  came  forth  from  behind  the  desk  and 
shook  hands. 

"  May  I  suggest  that  your  plan  of  hunting  up 
the  Justice  is  a  feasible  one?"  he  addressed  Hart- 
mann.  "  In  the  meanwhile,  if  Mr.  Latimer  is  inter- 
ested in  our  work  here,  I  should  be  delighted — " 

And    when    Hartmann    and    his    turnkey    were 


206        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

gone,  "  Your  surmise,  Mr.  Latimer,  as  to  the  origin 
of  this  institution  touches  me  particularly,  because 
it  was  largely  through  my  efforts  the  thing  has 
taken  form;  if  I  may  say  it  without  boasting.  My 
interests  have  always  run  in  the  direction  of  mental 
research,  especially  of  the  criminal  type.  I  have 
written  for  the  scientific  journals.  It  was  difficult 
work  converting  the  local  authorities  to  my 
plans;  a  special  bond  issue  was  necessary.  Even 
then,  as  a  straight  penitentiary,  this  plant  would 
never  have  been  erected;  but  as  an  experiment 
station  in  criminal  psychology  it  had  decided 
publicity  value.  The  argument  appealed  to  our 
Chamber  of  Commerce.  Without  boasting,  we 
have  put  Greensborough  on  the  map.  Only — " 
he  sighed. 

"  The  material  is  not  as  abundant  as  one  might 
wish?" 

"  Unfortunately,  no.  Our  cells  are  often  quite 
empty.  That  is  why  I  have  been  compelled  to  re- 
sort to  volunteers.  The  great  majority  of  our  citi- 
zens have  subjected  themselves  to  my  tests,  out  of 
a  commendable  public  spirit.  But  the  population 
of  Greensborough  is  limited." 

Latimer  glanced  about  the  room. 

"  Strictly   speaking,"   he   said,   "  I   am  not   yet 


Criminology  207 

within  the  grasp  of  the  law.  Nevertheless,  until 
my  companion's  return,  if  I  can  contribute  to  your 
stock  of  data — " 

Wheeling  went  pink  with  delight. 

"  This  is  generous,  Mr.  Latimer.    I  hardly — " 

"  Not  at  all.     Shall  we  proceed  ?  " 

"  Immediately,"  cried  Wheeling.  "  Allow  me  to 
place  your  chair  in  the  full  light.  That's  it." 

From  drawers  and  shelves  he  brought  forward 
the  simple  materials  of  his  business,  and  sat  down 
before  his  desk,  from  top  to  toe  the  tingling  profes- 
sional. 

"  I  trust,  Mr.  Latimer,  that  you  approach  this 
examination  in  the  candid  and  impersonal  spirit  in 
which  it  is  attempted,"  said  Dr.  Wheeling.  "  It  is 
all  in  the  interest  of  science,  of  course.  A  sym- 
pathetic attitude  on  your  part  is  essential  to  the 
validity  of  the  tests  we  are  about  to  undertake, 
even  when  these  may  seem  to  you  superfluous  *or 
meaningless." 

"Does  that  frequently  happen?"  said  Lat- 
imer, with  the  kindly  intention  of  expressing 
interest. 

But  it  brought  up  Wheeling  with  a  start.  His 
formula  of  introduction  was  really  a  sort  of  hyp- 
notic chant  intended  to  reduce  the  subject  to  the 


208        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

proper  passive  state.  He  looked  at  Latimer  and 
wondered  whether  it  had  been  necessary  in  the 
present  instance. 

"  We  will  begin,"  he  said,  "  with  a  simple  ex- 
periment in  visual  observation.  I  shall  pick  up  a 
black  piece  of  paper  with  one  hand  and  a  white 
piece  of  paper  with  the  other.  You  will  tell  me, 
as  soon  as  you  are  certain  of  your  facts,  which 
hand  holds  which.  Close  your  eyes,  please. 
Now!" 

Latimer  assigned  the  proper  slip  to  the  proper 
hand. 

"  Five  seconds,"  said  Wheeling,  in  a  tone  of  sur- 
prise, as  he  jotted  down  the  answer  to  a  prepared 
form.  "  May  I  ask,  Mr.  Latimer,  whether  you 
have  ever  been  tested  for  color-perception  before 
this?" 

"  No,"  said  Latimer.  "  Am  I  at  all  out  of  the 
normal?" 

"  More  than  twice  the  average  reaction  time," 
said  Wheeling.  "  We  will  try  again — this  time 
with  red  and  blue.  Close  your  eyes,  please. 
Now!" 

Latimer  made  the  correct  distinction. 

"  Extraordinary,"  said  Wheeling.  "  Three  sec- 
onds. Normal  vision  should  distinguish  blue  from 


Criminology  209 

red  more  slowly  than  black  from  white.  You  have 
reversed  the  process." 

"  Perhaps  this  may  be  the  reason,"  said  Latimer. 
"  In  the  first  instance  I  immediately  distinguished 
the  black  from  the  white,  but  it  took  me  some  time 
to  recall  that,  sitting  opposite  me,  your  right  hand 
corresponded  to  my  left  and  vice  versa.  In  the 
second  experiment  I  had  fixed  the  identity  of  your 
right  hand  and  your  left.  If  you  had  asked  me 
simply  to  point  out  the  red  and  the  blue  and  the 
black  and  the  white,  the  results  would  probably 
have  been  different.  It  might  be  worth  while  to 
repeat  the  test." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Wheeling. 

"  I  am  convinced  of  it,"  said  Latimer. 

They  went  through  the  test  again,  and  it  was  as 
Latimer  had  foretold.  The  revised  figures  showed 
that  Latimer  was  slightly  above  the  average  in 
color-perception  for  the  ordinary  type  of  prison 
inmate.  Wheeling  was  delighted. 

"  Rapidity  of  concentration  next,"  he  said. 
"  Take  this  paper  and  pencil  and  hold  yourself 
ready  to  begin  writing  when  I  give  the  order. 
Ready?  Write  the  name  of  seven  common  garden 
vegetables." 

"  Spinach,   tomatoes,  potatoes,"  wrote  Latimer. 


2io        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  A  simple  soul,"  he  thought,  as  he  lifted  his  eye 
momentarily  to  catch  the  fleeting  vision  of  the  next 
vegetable,  and  saw  Wheeling  peering  at  him  with 
that  kindly,  meaningless  smile  through  the  thick 
lenses  of  his  horn-rimmed  spectacles.  "  A  simple 
soul,  eager  for  the  truth.  Always  the  same  goal; 
the  difference  is  only  in  the  method  of  approach. 
Truth!  Men  have  sought  her  through  the  clouds 
that  cover  the  awful  light  of  the  face  of  the  gods, 
in  the  torture  of  their  own  flesh,  in  the  eyes  of 
women,  in  the  Arctic  silences  of  their  own 
thoughts,  in  the  forests,  in  the  mountains,  in  the 
deserts,  in  cloisters  and  catacombs  " —  Cucumbers, 
lettuce,  parsley,  beans,  he  wrote  hastily  and  then 
as  he  caught  Wheeling's  astonished  yet  patient 
gaze,  "  I  believe  I  could  do  it  faster  than  that.  My 
mind  wandered." 

"  But  that  is  just  the  point,"  said  Wheeling.  "  As 
an  index  of  mental  coordination  it  is  the  first,  un- 
rehearsed attempt  that  counts.  As  such  the  excep- 
tional length  of  time  you  have  taken  is  of  the  very 
highest  significance.  Excuse  me  while  I  set  down 
a  special  remark  that  does  not  come  under  any 
of  my  schedules.  Or,  better  still,  while  I  am 
writing,  I  give  you  this  sheet  of  paper  on  which 
you  will  kindly  draw,  without  unduly  hurrying 


Criminology  211 

yourself,  the  outlines  of  a  pig,  a  tree  and  a 
house." 

Here  indeed  was  a  task  that  called  for  the  ut- 
most concentration.  Outside  of  the  geometrical 
figures  which  he  had  drawn  for  some  forty  years 
on  the  college  blackboard,  Latimer  was  helpless 
with  pencil  in  hand.  The  elements  of  perspective 
were  a  mystery  to  him;  and  expression  was  utterly 
beyond  his  powers.  He  succeeded  in  drawing  the 
rough  two-dimensional  house  which  is  the  favorite 
of  infancy,  with  curly  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
chimney  and  a  flight  of  steps  hanging  several  feet 
below  the  level  of  the  ground.  He  did  a  little 
worse  on  his  tree,  which  was  only  a  telegraph 
pole  with  arms  projecting  at  acute  angles.  Recog- 
nizable both,  perhaps;  but  the  pig  was  a  complete 
disaster. 

"  That  is  pretty  poor,  isn't  it  ? "  he  said ; 
and  there  was  no  pretense  in  the  anxious 
query. 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  good  or  poor,"  said 
Wheeling,  "  but  of  the  age-class  in  which  your 
technical  execution  would  place  you.  From  that 
point  of  view  the  drawings  are  certainly  extraor- 
dinary. Somewhere  between  five  and  six  years  I 
should  say." 


212        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  You  mean  a  child  of  five  or  six  would  be  ex- 
pected to  do  as  well  as  this,"  said  Latimer,  and 
flushed  scarlet. 

"  The  average  child,"  said  Wheeling.  "  Twenty- 
three  children  out  of  a  hundred  of  that  age-class 
would  do  better.  So  much  for  manual  coordina- 
tion. Now  tell  me  as  fast  as  you  can  how  much 
is  three  times  4?" 

"  Twelve,"  Latimer  shot  at  him  before  he  had 
finished. 

"Good!    Eight  times  seven?" 

"  Fifty-six,"  said  Latimer  with  the  same  pre- 
cipitation. 

Wheeling  flushed  with  excitement.  "  We  are  on 
the  track  of  what  is  evidently  a  special  aptitude. 
Thirteen  times  thirteen. 

"  One  hundred  and  sixty-nine." 

"  Twenty-four  times  twenty-four  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred  and  seventy-six." 

Wheeling's  eyes  were  agleam.  What  a  case! 
The  doubly  eccentric  mind!  In  many  instances 
below  the  normal,  in  one  instance  rising  far  above 
it.  How  far  above,  he  trembled  to  think.  Then 
he  took  the  plunge. 

"  One  hundred  eleven  times  one  hundred 
eleven  ?  " 


Criminology  213 

"  Twelve  thousand,  three  hundred  twenty-one," 
said  Latimer. 

"  Two  hundred  thirteen  times  two  hundred  thir- 
teen?" 

"  Twenty-seven  thousand,  three  hundred  sixty- 
nine,"  said  Latimer. 

"Amazing!"  said  Wheeling;  and  upon  Lati- 
mer's  soul,  still  writhing  under  the  humiliation  of 
that  subnormal  pig,  the  word  fell  like  balm.  Nay, 
more,  in  the  upswing  of  spirits,  self-confidence  re- 
turned, and  he  felt  prepared  to  meet  Wheeling  on 
a  footing  of  human  equality. 

"  Let  us  go  back  for  a  moment  to  a  simple  reac- 
tion test,"  said  Wheeling.  "  That  is  essential  if  we 
are  to  strike  the  balance  for  the  mental  account. 
I  will  read  out  to  you  a  string  of  numbers  among 
which  will  occur  the  numeral  4.  As  soon  as  you 
hear  that  number  you  will  tap  with  your  finger  on 
the  table.  It  may  occur  once  or  several  times.  You 
will  tap  every  time.  That  is  plain  ?  " 

"  Quite,"  said  Latimer. 

"  Three,  six,  seven,  six,  six,  three,  eight,  nine, 
six,  five,  eleven,  nine,"  began  Wheeling. 

"  Undoubtedly  a  simple  soul,"  said  Latimer  to 
himself,  his  mind  swimming  lazily  on  the  droning 
rhythm  of  Wheeling's  notation.  "  No  trace  of 


214        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

originality,  I  should  say,  but  susceptible  to  guid- 
ance from  above.  A  loyal  private  in  the  army  of 
science,  his  not  to  make  reply,  but  only  to  follow 
where  others  lead.  Upon  the  minds  of  one  hun- 
dred thousand  such  men  the  true  mind  of  science 
builds  its  generalizations.  The  true  mind  glimpses 
the  vision  and  flings  it  out  for  a  hundred  thou- 
sand common  men  to  prove  or  disprove  with  their 
life's  work. — Four!"  He  smote  the  table  with 
both  his  fists  as  the  signal  number  pierced  to 
his  brain. 

Wheeling  smiled. 

"  That  is  the  third  time  I  mentioned  four.  You 
don't  mind  my  saying  that  you  present  the  very 
interesting  example  of  an  exceptionable  faculty 
rising  above  a  low  level  of  general  mental  coordi- 
nation." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Latimer. 

"Of  course  I  should  want  to  look  my  data  over 
carefully,"  said  Wheeling.  "  But  at  a  venture  I 
should  say  that  you  belong," — he  hesitated, — "  I 
speak  impersonally,  of  course, — in  the  thirteen-  or 
fourteen-year  class." 

"  Allowing  for  the  multiplication  exercises  ? " 
said  Latimer. 

"  Yes,  that  would  be  the  weighted  average.     To 


Criminology  215 

make  the  test  complete  I  should  have  to  take  your 
cranial  measurements." 

"You  suspect — ?"  said  Latimer. 

"  Characteristic  criminal  stigmata  ?  I  should 
hardly  say  that.  But  I  can  see  peculiarities — the 
lobar  formation — " 

"  Tell  me  this,  Dr.  .Wheeling,"  said  Latimer, 
breathing  heavily.  It  was  a  sign  of  rising  steam 
in  the  boiler  of  his  temperament.  "  Your  system 
consists  in  testing  my  mental  capacities  by  the 
standard  of  the  child  ?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"  But  you  haven't  asked  me  to  skip  a  rope." 

Wheeling  stared. 

"  That  is  not  part  of  our  regulation  test,"  he  said. 

"  And  yet  it  is  plain,"  sputtered  Latimer,  "  that 
at  skipping  a  rope  I  should  probably  be  inferior  to 
a  child  of  eight.  I  should  likewise  be  very  low 
down  in  the  scale  at  going  down  a  banister,  or  creep- 
ing under  a  gate,  or  walking  on  my  hands.  And  if  it 
came  to  screaming  myself  red  in  the  face  and  get- 
ting my  toe  into  my  mouth,  I  should  be  set  down 
very  low  in  the  scale  of  infantilism." 

"  But  our  tests,"  said  poor  Dr.  Wheeling. 

"  I  mean,"  shouted  Latimer  and  caught  himself 
on  the  edge  of  an  explosion. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
LATIMER  PREACHES 

INSTEAD  of  eating  up  the  road  in  the  late  after- 
noon, our  heroes,  at  7.30  of  the  same  evening,  were 
sitting  in  state  at  the  speaker's  table  and  in  close 
proximity  to  the  toastmaster,  at  the  annual  ban- 
quet of  the  Greensborough  Chamber  of  Commerce. 
They  were  there  at  Dr.  Wheeler's  invitation,  and 
the  manner  of  it  was  simple  enough.  For  when 
Hartmann  had  returned  from  his  prolonged  but 
successful  quest  of  Judge  Pomeroy,  and  Latimer 
rose  to  say  farewell  to  the  eminently  likable 
Wheeler,  the  good  doctor  hesitated,  looked  out  of 
the  window,  and  wondered  if — if — 

Yes? 

Well,  here  was  this  dinner  of  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce.  He  had  won  them  over  to  his  ambi- 
tious experiments  in  scientific  penology,  but,  of 
course,  there  was  always  criticism.  It  was  a  fight 
to  consolidate  one's  gains.  The  Opposition  sheet 
was  yelling  economy  in  war  time.  Now  if  Wheeler 
could  have  for  his  guests  at  the  dinner  two  dis- 

216 


Latimer  Preaches  217 

tinguished  visitors  from  New  York,  one  an  emi- 
nent specialist,  one  a  man  of  exceptional  culture 
and  distinguished  in  academic  circles — 

"  Omit  all  that,  Wheeler." 

Well,  they  could  see  for  themselves  how  it 
would  help :  The  prestige — 

"  It  is  pretty  well  on  towards  night,"  said  Lati- 
mer. "  We  can  hardly  rout  Manning  out  of  bed. 
What  do  you  say,  Hartmann?" 

"  Yes,  but  glothes ! "  shouted  the  eminent  spe- 
cialist, with  much  greater  reluctance  than  he  really 
felt. 

Wheeler  pleaded  that  Greensborough  had  not  yet 
grown  up  to  the  open  front  as  the  sina  qua  non 
for  evening  festivities.  He  himself  would  come 
just  as  he  was,  having  shaved  and  washed,  of 
course. 

Our  records  show  that  at  8.15  Dr.  Hartmann 
leaned  forward  behind  his  neighbor's  back  and 
whispered  to  Latimer  who  was  the  second  man 
removed,  "  Latimer,  you  are  eating  too  much." 

"  I  have  been  doing  nothing  of  the  kind,"  hissed 
Latimer. 

"  I  have  been  watching,  Latimer,  and  at  the 
glosest  galgulation  you  have  already  engulfed  two 
and  a  half  times  the  normal  condents  of  the  human 


21 8        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

stomach.  You  are  now  attacking  the  cheese  and 
salad  in  solid  formation." 

"  Hartmann,  you  can't  feed  me  on  air  the  way 
you  do  your  helpless  patients.  When  I  need  a 
nurse  I'll  call  you."  And  Latimer  picked  up  his 
fork. 

"  You'll  need  one  to-night.  Don't  say  I  didn't 
warn  you." 

But  at  this  moment  the  toastmaster  rapped  for 
attention.  What  follows  is  partly  summarized, 
partly  quoted  from  an  account  in  next  morning's 
Sentinel,  of  what  the  reporter  described  as  prob- 
ably the  most  impressive  public  dinner  ever  given 
during  the  course  of  a  European  War  in  the  in- 
corporated limits  of  Greensborough.  The  toast- 
master  began  by  saying,  without  fear  of  contradic- 
tion, that  no  more  patriotic  gathering  of  business- 
men could  be  assembled  anywhere  in  the  country 
than  was  met  here  to-night  to  pledge  the  loyal  and 
undivided  support  of  Greensborough's  business 
community  to  the  President  in  the  present  crisis. 
He  held  no  brief  for  Greensborough,  but  he  would 
be  remiss  in  his  duty  if  he  abstained  from  point- 
ing with  pride  to  the  fact  that  Greensborough's 
services  to  the  nation  were  unapproached  by  any 
other  community  in  the  southern  tier.  It  had  been 


Latimer  Preaches  219 

a  time  of  splendid  moral  expression,  but  for- 
tunately, too,  of  great  material  prosperity.  The 
wholesale  and  retail  trade,  the  dairy  industry,  the 
railroad  shops,  the  public  service  corporations  were 
paying  higher  wages  to  more  men  than  ever  be- 
fore. He  would  not,  however,  intrude  on  their 
patience  with  details.  These  would  be  forthcom- 
ing in  due  time  from  the  qualified  representatives 
of  these  various  branches  of  business  life  who,  it 
was  no  secret,  were  to  address  them  to-night.  For 
the  present  it  was  enough  to  sound  the  keynote  of 
the  evening  in  which  he  asked  everyone  to  join, 
"  Greensborough  for  the  Nation." 

What  was  it  that  lifted  Latimer  to  his  feet,  fore- 
most among  the  cheering  crowd?  Could  it  have 
been  this  exceedingly  threadbare  oratory — deliv- 
ered, it  is  true,  with  fine  earnestness — that  brought 
the  tears  to  our  hero's  eyes?  Hartmann  the  next 
day  assigned  a  purely  medical  reason  for  the  tears, 
but,  as  we  shall  see,  Hartmann  next  morning  was 
not  an  unbiassed  judge. 

During  the  next  hour  and  a  half,  the  two  wan- 
derers just  managed  to  keep  their  heads  above  the 
swirling  tide  of  Greensborough  statistics.  An  in- 
crease of  seventeen  per  cent  in  population  since  the 
state  census  of  1915;  a  wage-roll  of  nearly  a  mil- 


22O        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

lion  dollars  a  week;  an  increase  of  115  per  cent 
in  the  vegetable  canning  output;  an  increase  of 
$17,500  in  the  Fire  Department  budget  over  last 
year;  a  new  system  of  street  sprinkling;  the  model 
penitentiary  and  laboratory  of  criminal  research 
which  had  drawn  upon  Greensborough  the  admir- 
ing attention  of  the  civilized  world — here  Latimer 
applauded  rapturously  and  Hartmann  with  suffi- 
cient enthusiasm; — the  $100,000  bond  issue  for  a 
new  High  school;  the  introduction  of  the  card  sys- 
tem in  every  department  of  the  town  government — 

"  Latimer,"  whispered  Hartmann,  leaning  for- 
ward behind  his  neighbor's  back,  "  leave  that  coffee 
alone.  It's  your  third." 

In  short,  the  application  of  modern  methods  to 
every  phase  of  the  communal  life,  involving  the 
purchase  of  no  less  than  seventy-five  library  cabinets 
of  six  drawers  each  with  an  average  capacity  of 
300  cards — 

Latimer's  head  was  awhirl  with  numbers  and 
curves  and  ratios,  and  Hartmann  was  looking  at 
his  watch,  when  the  toastmaster  rose.  They  had 
with  them  to-night  a  visitor  from  New  York,  a 
distinguished  medical  specialist  whose  sojourn  was 
not  unconnected  with  a  study  of  Greensborough's 
model  penal  institution,  a  scientist  of  national,  nay 


Latimer  Preaches  221 

of  world-wide  fame,  whose  name,  no  doubt,  would 
be  immediately  recognized,  and  whom  he  would 
now  ask  to  address  the  gathering,  if  only  for  a  few 
minutes.  He  took  pleasure  in  introducing  Pro- 
fessor Gardner. 

"  Hartmann,"  came  in  an  agonized  whisper 
from  Wheeler. 

"  Professor  Hartmann,  of  course,"  said  the 
toastmaster. 

Hartmann  sat  stiff  in  his  chair,  felt  for  his 
throat,  gulped  down  the  Woolworth  Building  and 
a  couple  of  battleships,  snatched  at  his  glass  of 
water,  and  stood  up. 

"  Chentlemen,"  he  said,  "  what  is  the  brober  ad- 
vice I  can  give  to  an  audience  of  businessmen?  It 
is  this:  Mind  your  own  business.  I  have  inspected 
your  model  benitentiary  and  glinical  laboratory.  It 
is  a  sblendid  insdidution.  (Frantic  applause.) 
When  you  have  hired  an  exbert  who  knows  his 
business,  let  him  alone.  Hands  off,  I  say,  Hands 
off!" 

They  gave  him  a  magnificent  cheer,  and  the 
toastmaster  rose.  They  had  with  them  to-night  a 
visitor,  whom,  without  entering  into  invidious  com- 
parisons, he  could  properly  describe  as  no  less  dis- 
tinguished in  his  own  line  than  the  eminent  spe- 


222        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

cialist  to  whom  they  had  just  had  the  pleasure  of 
listening;  whose  notable  academic  career  had  been 
a  source  of  guidance  and  inspiration  to  generations 
of  young  men,  and  whose  mature  wisdom  from 
the  pulpit  through  many  years — 

"Now  who  the  devil  would  that  be?"  thought 
Latimer— 

— "  had  brought  comfort  and  help  to  countless 
audiences.  Without  presuming  to  dictate,  it  was 
proper,  perhaps,  that  on  an  occasion  like  the  pres- 
ent he  should  call  on  the  next  speaker  for  a  few 
words  on  a  topic  which  must  be  close  to  the  hearts 
of  all  of  them — The  Ethics  of  Business.  (Ap- 
plause.) He  would  call  on  Professor  Latimer. 

"  He  should  not  have  eaten  so  much,"  groaned 
Hartmann  as  he  saw  Latimer  heave  himself  slowly 
to  his  feet  with  obvious  effort.  "  He  cannot  do 
himself  justice  after  that  meal,"  and  the  good 
man's  soul  yearned  for  his  comrade  in  distress. 

Latimer  measured  the  room  with  his  eye,  back 
and  forth,  back  and  forth,  three  times,  Hartmann 
counted  with  sinking  heart. 

"  His  mind  is  a  blank.  I  must  get  Wheeler.  We 
must  do  something."  He  tried  to  catch  the  doc- 
tor's eye. 

"  My  friends,"  said  Latimer,  "  I  am  grateful  to 


Latimer  Preaches  223 

your  toastmaster  for  the  text  he  has  furnished  me. 
It  is  more  than  appropriate  to  the  occasion.  It  is 
pertinent  to  my  own  thoughts  as  I  have  been  sit- 
ting here  to-night.  The  opportunity  has  been 
vouchsafed  me  to  put  on  record  certain  obser- 
vations which  have  been  gathering  in  my  mind 
in  the  course  of  years.  I  welcome  this  oppor- 
tunity." 

Hartmann  cut  short  his  futile  efforts  to  win 
Wheeler's  attention.  There  was  no  lack  of  power 
in  that  voice,  no  tremor  of  diffidence.  Latimer  was 
in  good  shape.  He  would  speak  an  hour  and  a 
half.  And  with  that  the  devil  of  envy  entered  into 
Hartmann.  Why  had  he  contented  himself,  when 
the  chance  offered,  with  a  dribbling,  idiotic  school- 
boy stammer  just  thirty  seconds  long?  There  was 
so  much,  he  now  recalled,  that  he  could  have  said, 
and  that  ought  to  be  said,  firmly. 

"  My  friends,"  said  Latimer,  "  if  a  student  of 
the  nature  and  phenomena  of  Evil,  if  a  muck- 
raker  into  the  potentialities  of  human  iniquity, 
were  to  search  the  literatures  and  the  common 
vocabularies  of  all  history  for  a  formula  that 
sounds  the  depths  of  moral  degradation,  for  the 
formula  of  Absolute  Sin,  he  would  find  it  in  a 
phrase  of  just  three  words  which  has  come  to  my 


224        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

mind  more  than  once  in  the  course  of  the  evening. 
That  phrase  is  Business  is  Business." 

"  This  is  a  wanton  and  deliberate  insult  to  a  gath- 
ering of  respectable  men,"  cried  Hartmann  in- 
wardly. 

"  It  would  be  a  long  time,  no  doubt,  before  our 
student  of  ethics  stumbled  upon  that  hideous 
maxim,"  said  Latimer.  "  And  the  reason,  my 
friends,  lies  in  its  very  familiarity  and  in  its 
unquestioned  acceptance.  Every  one  of  us  repeats 
these  three  words  every  day  of  his  life.  It  is  one 
of  the  small  coins  of  the  world's  common  think- 
ing. Alas,  too  common.  Let  your  student  turn 
to  the  chronicles  of  the  court  of  Rome  under  the 
emperor  Caligula.  Let  him  scrutinize  Versailles 
under  Louis  XV.  Let  him  thumb  the  famous  con- 
fessions of  mankind  from  Augustine  through  Casa- 
nova to  George  Moore.  Let  him  peruse  the  annals 
of  abnormal  psychology  under  the  guidance  of  my 
good  friend  Wheeler  (Applause} ;  he  will  not  find 
a  doctrine  that  so  utterly  reeks  of  shamelessness  as 
this  brief  apothegm,  Business  is  Business." 

"  He  is  repeating  himself,"  sneered  Hartmann. 

"  Go,  my  friends,"  said  Latimer,  "  through  the 
roster  of  the  world's  trades  and  occupations  other 
than  business;  cast  them  into  the  same  verbal 


Latimer  Preaches  225 

mould :  and  see  how  you  only  obtain  something 
which  the  mind  rejects  as  meaningless  or  the  con- 
science rejects  as  monstrous.  Thus: 

Shoemaking  is  shoemaking 

Law  is  law 

Medicine  is  medicine 

Truck  farming  is  truck  farming 

Tinkering  is  tinkering 

Religion  is  religion 

Stenography  is  stenography. 

Or  let  us  say: 

Labor  is  labor." 

"  Smart  and  cheap,"  said  Hartmann. 

"  Take  your  tinker,"  said  Latimer.  "  If  you 
apprehend  him  in  the  act  of  palming  off  an  imper- 
fectly soldered  kettle,  he  will  say  anything  except 
that  tinkering  is  tinkering.  And  your  office  secre- 
tary will  misspell  half  your  dictation,  but  she  will 
not  assert  that  stenography  is  stenography.  Your 
man  of  law  may  admit  that  there  are  dishonest 
lawyers,  and  your  physician  confess  that  his  pro- 
fession is  plagued  with  ignorant  or  rascally  prac- 
titioners, but  neither  of  them  will  assert  that  some- 
thing in  the  very  nature  of  his  calling  demands  the 
violation  of  the  moral  law  and  at  the  same  time 


226        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

excuses  it.  This  is  just  what  the  business  man  im- 
plies when  he  tells  us  that  business  is  business.  I 
speak,  of  course,  Mr.  Toastmaster,  without  present 
or  local  intention." 

The  toastmaster  silently  deprecated  the  need  of 
any  apology. 

"  To  be  sure,  there  is  one  exception  which  has 
no  doubt  occured  to  many  of  my  listeners,"  said 
Latimer.  "  We  do  say  that  war  is  war.  And 
another  case,  if  you  will  pardon  me.  We  do  say 
that  all  is  fair  in  love.  Nevertheless,  on  looking 
more  deeply  into  the  matter  you  will  discover  a 
crucial  distinction.  When  a  man  says  that  war  is 
war,  he  implies  that  its  cruelties  and  abominations 
are  only  the  inevitable  accompaniments  of  the 
trade.  But  the  ultimate  purpose  of  war,  the  settle- 
ment of  irreconcilable  disputes,  or  the  confirmation 
of  peace,  or  the  punching  up  of  the  morale  of  a 
nation,  he  will  not  admit  is  an  ignoble  purpose. 
And  so  of  love;  though  that  is  a  matter  on  which 
I  will  not  presume  to  speak  with  authority." 

"  My  Gott,  but  he  has  the  berfect  blatform  man- 
ner," sneered  Hartmann. 

"  Whereas  your  businessman,"  said  Latimer, 
"  apparently  admits,  without  duress,  that  he  is  en- 
gaged in  an  illicit  occupation.  '  I  think,  therefore 


Latimer  Preaches  227 

I  am,'  said  the  great  Descartes.     '  I  am  in  busi- 
ness, therefore  I  cheat/  says  the  world  at  large." 

"  Pedant,"  muttered  Hartmann. 

"  So  Blackbeard  and  Captain  Kidd  might  glory 
in  their  deeds  of  cruelty  and  rapine,  but  it  is 
not  recorded  that  even  such  lips  have  shamed 
their  own  profession  with  the  apology  that  piracy 
is  piracy." 

The  toastmaster  rose  to  fill  the  empty  water 
glass  for  which  Latimer  was  reaching. 

"  Now  the  odd  thing,  my  friends,"  he  went  on, 
"  and  the  horrible  thing  is  that  men  who  will 
spontaneously  classify  themselves  as  moral  outlaws, 
on  the  ground  that  they  are  men  of  business,  will 
insist  that  the  ancient  and  accepted  moralities  shall 
be  practised  by  every  other  trade  and  profession. 
You  cannot  expect  anything  of  us  businessmen,  I 
hear  them  say  virtually,  but  we  demand  that  you 
who  are  not  in  business  act  like  an  honest  man. 
Thus  you  will  hear  employers  complain  that  their 
workmen  are  shiftless,  unfaithful,  bent  upon  giv- 
ing as  little  as  they  can  for  as  large  a  wage  as  they 
can  get.  But  I  have  yet  to  hear,  from  the  lips  of 
the  most  arrogant  of  capitalists,  the  damning 
charge  that  Labor  is  Labor.  Picture  my  friends, 
the  amazing,  instinctive  tribute  which  the  employer 


228        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

thus  yields  to  his  workmen  as  a  matter  of  course. 
This  laborer  is  a  worthless  fellow,  a  disgrace  to 
his  trade.  I  will  discharge  him  and  hire  an  honest 
laborer;  for  there  are  such.  But  if  your  employer 
is  overreached  in  a  bargain  by  another  employer 
of  labor,  he  takes  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  He  is 
content  to  await  his  chance  to  get  even.  For 
Business  is  Business." 

"  Will  he  never  get  through  ? "  wailed  Hart- 
mann;  and  no  doubt  the  reader  with  him.  Well, 
let  the  reader  be  patient.  The  end  is  in  sight. 

"  If  only,  my  friends,"  said  Latimer,  "  this 
philosophy  of  moral  outlawry  were  to  bring,  as 
compensation,  those  robust  qualities  which  go  with 
outlawry — courage,  a  hair-trigger  pride,  even  the 
splendor  of  open  violence.  But  such  is  not  the  case. 
Say  that  one  factory-worker  has  taken  away 
another's  job  by  underbidding  him  or  strike-break- 
ing against  him.  What  will  be  the  state  of  mind 
of  the  displaced  laborer?  It  will  be  one  of  solid, 
normal  hate  for  the  man  who  has  done  him  in- 
jury. Frequently  it  Gome's  to  bloodshed,  in  cases 
that  are  euphemistically  described  as  labor  war- 
fare. You  do  not  find  the  striker  and  the  so-called 
scab  hobnobbing  at  the  tavern  or  calling  on  each 
other  with  their  wives.  But  two  men  who  have 


Latimer  Preaches  229 

been  plotting  and  contriving  against  each  other  in 
the  way  of  business,  will  invite  each  other  to  spend 
the  week-end.  There  is  no  pride,  there  is  no  fresh 
passion  of  any  kind  under  the  formula  of  Business 
is  Business. 

"  One  word  more,  and  I  am  done.  I  wish  only 
to  invite  your  attention  to  what  I  may  call  the 
infectious  nature  of  the  moral  leprosy  of  Business 
is  Business.  It  pollutes  with  its  touch  those  other 
trades.  We  do  not  say  that  labor  is  labor,  mean- 
ing that  a  badly  built  chair  is  just  as  normal  as  a 
chair  square-set  on  its  four  legs.  We  do  not  say 
that  sculpture  is  sculpture  because  an  arm  out  of 
proportion  is  as  acceptable  as  an  arm  perfectly 
modeled.  We  do  not  say  that  medicine  is  medicine 
because  a  patient  killed  is  as  tolerable  as  a  patient 
cured.  But  the  carpenter  will  blame  it  on  a  defect 
in  the  wood;  the  sculptor  will  claim  a  temporary 
indisposition;  the  doctor  will  say  that  the  patient's 
heart  was  congenitally  weak.  Each  man  will  de- 
fend the  honor  of  his  trade  and  plead  accident.  But 
let  these  artisans  and  professionals  turn  business- 
men, and  see  how  the  moral  darkness  descends 
upon  them.  Catch  the  carpenter  in  the  act  of 
selling  a  crooked  chair,  the  sculptor  selling  a  defec- 
tive bit  of  marble,  the  physician  peddling  a  noxious 


230        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

drug,  and  they  are  under  no  moral  compulsion  to 
explain.  Business  is  Business. 

"  My  friends,"  concluded  Latimer,  "  I  have 
heard  much  to-night  of  what  you  men  of  business 
have  done  for  our  country  in  the  present  crisis. 
I  have  listened  with  admiration  and  pride.  But  let 
me  entreat  you,  after  you  have  rendered  service  to 
the  nation,  to  render  service  to  yourselves  as  men. 
Rid  yourselves  of  this  ghastly  formula  of  which  I 
know  you  to  be  too  frequently  the  unquestioning 
victims.  The  scourge  of  war  can  also  clean.  Let 
it  wipe  off  this  self-imposed  brand  of  outlawry. 
If  you  must  work  evil — and  all  of  us  must  on  oc- 
casion— do  so  because  you  covet  or  hate  or  fear 
or  rage:  not  because  Business  is  Business." 

"  And  that  man,"  grumbled  Hartmann  as  he 
rose  to  applaud  with  the  rest,  "  has  absorbed  within 
the  last  two  hours  two  and  a  half  times  the  con- 
dents  of  the  normal  human  sdomach." 


CHAPTER  XIX 
NIGHTMARE 

SOME  time  after  midnight,  in  the  spacious  double 
bed-room  which  our  two  travelers  shared  at  the 
Greensborough  House,  facing  on  the  Town  Hall 
plaza,  Hartmann's  worst  fears  were  realized. 

Latimer's  broken  sleep  fell  from  him  like  a 
cloak.  He  lay  on  a  mattress  of  down,  swaying 
gently  in  a  delicious  firmament  of  dim  lights  and 
arabesques  of  faint  melody,  of  patterns  and  tones 
which  he  was  always  just  on  the  point  of  identify- 
ing and  not  succeeding  and  blissfully  content  to 
keep  on  trying.  Gradually  the  patterns  and  the 
golden  shadows  drifted  towards  one  corner  of  the 
room  where  they  thickened  and  coagulated  into  a 
mass  that  took  on,  as  you  watched  it,  human  form. 
Ah,  thought  Latimer,  then  Margaret  had  been  keep- 
ing vigil  all  night,  poor  little  girl.  He  must  speak 
to  her  about  it  in  the  morning  and  insist  that  she 
take  her  rest.  He  would  be  firm,  but  if  she  re- 
fused it  would  be  very  agreeable  too.  She  was 
speaking  to  him  now  as  she  glided  forward  from 

231 


232        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

the  corner  of  the  room,  presumably  to  give  him  the 
fever  draught  for  which  his  parched  throat  ached 
so  badly.  Only  it  was  odd  that  it  should  not  be 
Margaret  after  all  but  a  stranger  that  emerged 
from  the  shadows  in  the  corner  and  was  now  sit- 
ting by  the  side  of  his  bed,  on  some  queer  sort  of 
chair.  Latimer  looked  again  and  it  was  Filbert — 
or  was  it  the  Toastmaster? — no  it  was  Filbert. 
And  it  was  a  happy  conceit  that  Filbert  should  have 
discarded  the  hideous  garments  of  the  modern  man. 
He  looked  ever  so  much  more  attractive  in  his 
scarlet  doublet  and  hose  under  a  black  cape,  and  a 
black  velvet  hat  with  a  red  plume.  He  wore  a  short 
dress-sword  of  medieval  pattern  and,  as  he  sat 
there,  he  slapped  his  spurred  riding-boot  with  a 
yellow  leather  gauntlet.  Except  that  it  was  not  a 
chair  he  was  sitting  on,  but  a  filing  cabinet.  Lati- 
mer leaned  forward  to  test  one  of  the  drawers  and 
the  act  brought  him  nearer  to  his  visitor  whose 
face,  on  closer  scrutiny,  was  not  Filbert's,  though 
the  resemblance  was  strong;  and  yet  it  was  not 
quite  the  Toastmaster.  The  glint  in  the  eyes  was 
too  brilliant,  the  lips  were  too  full-fleshed,  and  that 
well-bred  ironic  smile — 

Latimer  laughed  quietly. 

"  Strange  that  your  identity  should  have  puz- 


Nightmare  233 

zled  me  at  first,"  he  said.  "  But  I  know  you  now. 
You  are  straight  out  of  Faust.  I  saw  Edouard  de 
Rezske  in  my  time,  but  he  was  heavier  by  thirty 
pounds." 

"  You  know  what  these  operatic  stars  are,"  the 
handsome  visitor  complained.  "  Gross  feeders  and 
disdainful  of  exercise.  The  result  is  that  I  began 
as  one  of  the  great  romantic  figures  in  literature, 
but  have  become  associated  in  the  public  mind  with 
the  picture  of  fat  old  bassos  in  tights.  Still  it 
hardly  matters.  I  am  no  longer  in  grand  opera." 

"  Then  you  are  no  longer  the  Spirit  of  Negation 
as  that  poor  devil  of  a  Faust  called  you  ? "  said 
Latimer. 

"  Quite  the  contrary,"  said  the  stranger  who  had 
made  a  wry  mouth  at  the  phrase  "  poor  devil,"  but 
had  passed  it  by.  "  I  am  now  a  specialist  in  exact 
science.  You  will  observe — "  and  he  pointed  to  the 
cabinet  on  which  he  was  sitting. 

"  A  card  catalogue  ?  "  said  Latimer. 

"  Exactly;  but  more  than  that.  You  will  observe 
that  on  pressing  this  button  two  pairs  of  wings 
emerge  from  the  roof  and  the  floor  of  the  cabinet, 
converting  it  into  a  practicable  biplane.  The  motor 
is  concealed  in  the  bottom  drawer.  I  need  not 
dilate  on  the  merits  of  a  device  which  combines 


234        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

unexampled  facilities  for  rapid  locomotion  with  a 
perfect  system  of  ready  reference." 

"  Is  it  impertinent  to  ask  under  what  name  you 
now  do  business  ?  "  said  Latimer. 

"  I  have  never  been  particular  about  a  label," 
replied  the  stranger,  "  I  have  been  called  at  dif- 
ferent times  and  in  different  places  by  countless 
names  and  I  have  answered  to  all  of  them.  If  I 
have  a  preference  it  is  for  one  of  my  oldest  titles. 
Names  like  Mephistopheles,  Satan,  Beelzebub,  and 
Ashmodai,  while  sufficient  for  the  purpose  of  iden- 
tification, do  not  convey  the  sense  of  personality; 
and  if  there  is  anything  I  detest  it's  parading  under 
false  colors.  If  you  have  a  memory  for  nicknames 
I  am—" 

"  Of  course,  I  know  you  now,"  cried  Latimer. 
"  You  are  the  Father  of  Statistics." 

"  Precisely.  I  like  the  name  because  it  is  apt, 
because  it  is  modern,  and  yet  retains  something  of 
the  aroma  of  old  tradition." 

"  And  your  specialty  now  is  Social  Science  ?  " 

"  Why  now  ?  It  always  has  been.  It  was  of  me 
the  poet  spoke  when  he  said  Nihil  humani  a  me 
alienum  puto.  If  you  will  think  for  a  moment,  you 
will  see  that  I  have  been  the  only  constant  factor 
in  economic  evolution.  Systems  of  property  and 


Nightmare  235 

exchange  have  come  and  gone.  We  have  passed 
from  primitive  barter  to  feudalism,  and  from  feuda- 
lism to  cash,  and  from  cash  to  credit,  and  from 
that  I  suppose  to  Socialism — but  there  was  never 
a  time  when  there  hasn't  been  the  devil  to  pay. 
Without  undue  boasting  I  may  fairly  claim  to  be 
the  Original  Sociologist." 

Again  Latimer  laughed.  He  felt  his  heavy  ill- 
ness falling  from  him.  Not  since  the  debate  with 
his  fellow-thinkers  in  the  garage  had  his  faculties 
enjoyed  such  free  play. 

"  To  be  sure !  How  clear  it  all  becomes  now," 
he  said.  "  And  long  ago,  when  you  described  your- 
self as  walking  up  and  down  the  earth,  it  was 
not  idling  or  mischief;  you  were  practising 
Research  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  be  so  sympathetically  under- 
stood," said  the  visitor.  "  Only  you  will  realize,  of 
course,  that  in  the  process  of  time  the  science  of 
sociology  has  expanded  beyond  the  grasp  of  any 
one  mind.  If  there  was  one  fault  to  which  I  must 
confess  in  the  past,  it  was  a  certain  lack  of  concen- 
tration. So  much  so,  that  whenever  men  were  at 
a  loss  for  an  explanation  of  anything,  they  settled 
it  by  saying  that  I  was  in  it.  To-day  I  specialize." 

"Statistics?" 


236        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Yes.  Because  in  the  whole  range  of  human 
study  they  represent  exact  truth  unvitiated  by  sen- 
timents. Life  can  only  be  seen  whole  through  the 
medium  of  percentage.  As  has  been  said,  '  Stretch 
not  ourselves  beyond  our  measure.' ' 

"  The  old  habit  of  quoting  Scripture  persists," 
snapped  Latimer,  whose  joy  in  his  visitor  was 
rapidly  abating. 

The  stranger  blushed. 

"  It  is  a  habit,"  he  said  apologetically.  "  Usually 
I  refer  to  the  United  States  Census  for  1910  and 
the  Consular  Reports.  From  such  sources  I  gather, 
for  instance,  that  the  number  of  children  employed 
in  the  canning  industry  has  been  grossly  exag- 
gerated and  sentimentalized." 

Latimer  spoke  up  hotly. 

"  You  approve  of  little  children  working  four- 
teen hours  a  day  in  the  offal  of  the  packing 
sheds?" 

"  I  neither  approve  nor  disapprove,"  said  the 
stranger  flipping  an  imaginary  speck  of  dust  from 
his  boot.  "  My  only  concern  is  with  the  percentage. 
Most  people,  I  take  it,  when  they  cry  out  against 
child  labor  in  the  canneries,  have  a  picture  of  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  children  undergoing  the  un- 
pleasant ordeal.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  are 


Nightmare  237 

to-day,  in  the  vegetable  packing  stations  of  New 
York  State — pardon  me  a  moment." 

He  bent  down  to  the  cabinet  and  pulled  out  a 
drawer  in  which  he  fingered  rapidly  and  extracted 
a  white  card,  a  green  card,  and  a  salmon-colored 
card. 

"  Here  we  are,"  he  said.  "  I  always  make  it  a 
point  to  cross-index  as  much  as  possible.  The 
salmon  card  shows  the  number  of  cannery  children 
under  twelve  working  with  the  consent  of  parents. 
The  green  card  shows  orphans  under  legal  guardian- 
ship. The  white  card  shows  children  of  both 
classes  who  have  complied  with  the  state  regula- 
tions prescribing  an  operation  for  adenoids  before 
entering  the  canneries.  Now  the  total  number  of 
children  so  employed  is — pardon  me — 12,186.  As- 
suming a  child  population  of  about  two  million  for 
the  State,  this  gives  us  a  ratio  of  six-tenths  of  one 
per  cent;  which  is  really  a  very  inconsiderable 
ratio." 

"  And  if  even  a  sole  child  were  subjected  to  the 
unspeakable  barbarity !  "  shouted  Latimer. 

"  That  may  be,"  said  the  stranger.  "  It  is  not 
for  me  to  condemn  such  outbursts  of  generous  feel- 
ing. I  am  myself  occasionally  tempted  into  the 
Fallacy  of  Humane  Disproportion.  The  fact  re- 


238        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

mains  that  if  we  would  be  ruled  by  reason  and  not 
by  sentiment,  we  must  learn  to  think  in  percentages 
and  not  in  absolute  numbers.  Take,  for  instance, 
the  children  of  Belgium.  If  one  reads  a  list  of 
names,  it  is  disconcerting.  If  one  thinks  of  the 
percentage  of  Belgian  children  who  have  suf- 
fered—" 

"  The  North,"  screamed  Latimer,  "  went  to  war 
because  of  an  old  slave  named  Tom,  a  slave  woman 
named  Eliza,  and  a  slave  child ! " 

"Exactly,"  said  the  visitor.  "And  the  South 
has  been  justified  in  asserting  ever  since,  that 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  misrepresented  an  entire  civili- 
zation by  taking  an  infinitesimally  small  percen- 
tage—" 

"  I  will  not  listen  to  you,"  screamed  Latimer. 
"  Go  away !  I  will  not  listen !  " 

"  That  is  the  way  of  the  world,"  said  the 
stranger,  and  for  the  first  time  his  satisfied  smile 
showed  signs  of  waning.  "  That  is  because  our 
minds  as  yet  react  imperfectly  to  the  statistical 
outlook.  I  insist  that  we  must  not  think  of  the 
1 200  children  who  are  annually  killed  by  motor 
cars  in  New  York  City,  but  of  the  fact  that  this 
number  represents  only  -one-twentieth  of  one  per 
cent  of  the  children  who  habitually  play  in  the 


Nightmare  239 

streets.  And  the  18,000  orphans  who  grow  up  in 
the  asylums  are  but  one  per  cent  of  the  child  popu- 
lation of  New  York." 

Latimer  sat  up  and  wrung  his  hands.  Golden 
circles  and  arabesques  were  flashing  before  his 
eyes,  and  through  the  glow  he  saw  the  face  of  his 
visitor  expanding,  expanding.  .  .  . 

"  Suffer  the  one  per  cent  of  juvenile  delinquents 
to  come  unto  me;  that  is  the  way  it  should  be 
written,"  Latimer  wailed. 

The  visitor  sneered.  But  as  Latimer  reached 
over  and  seized  his  water  bottle  and  held  it  aloft 
with  a  menacing  gesture,  the  stranger  grew 
alarmed,  and  stooping,  pressed  a  button  in  the 
cabinet.  The  cabinet  became  a  biplane,  and  the 
motor  began  to  hum,  but  the  car  did  not  gather 
momentum  at  once.  Latimer  took  aim. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  ?  "  cried  the  visitor,  f  ren- 
ziedly  pushing  at  the  emergency  button  in  the 
cabinet. 

"  I  am  Luther,  and  I  give  you  a  taste  of  the  old 
medicine,"  Latimer  shouted  and  hurled  the  bottle. 
The  stranger  howled  with  pain.  "  Out  with  you, 
out,  accursed  father  of  the  percentage  system ! " 

There  was  a  crash,  and  a  terrific  roar  from  the 
engine  as  the  machine  shot  into  the  air,  skidded, 


240        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

and  plunged  straight  for  Latimer.  It  struck  him 
in  the  chest  and  threw  him  back  on  the  pillows. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  are  you  up 
to,  you  old  lunadic,"  yelled  Mephistopheles  who 
changed  and  changed  and  melted  and  dissolved  and 
solidified  into  Hartmann,  bending  over  him  and 
shaking  him  like  mad. 

"  What  is  it?    What  is  it?  "  gasped  Latimer. 

"  You've  been  howling  for  the  last  five  minutes 
like  a  stricken  galf,  that  is  the  madder;  and  when 
I  approached,  you  threw  your  shoe  at  my  head." 

Latimer  sank  back  in  shame,  but  his  heart  beat 
against  his  ribs  in  joy. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Hartmann.  I  will  try  to  go  to 
sleep." 

"You'd  bedder,"  grumbled  the  eminent  spe- 
cialist backing  away  cautiously  to  his  own  bed. 
"  Two  and  a  half  times  the  condents  of  the  normal 
human  sdomach ! " 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  INSURGENTS 

THE  run  was  uneventful  from  Greensborough  to 
the  crossroads  where  Latimer  had  waged  battle 
with  the  savage  Ford  and  rescued  Margaret  from 
its  fell  clutches.  As  Hartmann  slackened  speed  to 
make  the  turn  towards  the  Manning  place,  he  fixed 
a  glittering  eye  on  his  companion  and  laid  down 
terms : 

"  No  more  social  engagements,  Latimer.  I  want 
to  make  town  before  nightfall." 

"  A  quarter  of  an  hour  at  most,"  Latimer  reas- 
sured him.  "  Just  long  enough  to  make  it  clear  to 
Manning  why  it  is  impossible  that  I  should  stay." 

The  machine  was  still  churning  around  the 
corner  when  Latimer  sprang  up,  waved  his  hat,  and 
shouted.  Coming  to  meet  them  was  a  group  of 
four, — Manning,  Margaret,  and  arm  in  arm  with 
the  latter  on  one  side,  an  alert  young  woman  who 
was  the  first  to  answer  Latimer's  greeting  with  a 
brave  flourish  of  her  manly  panama — Winifred  to 
be  sure;  on  the  other  side,  Polly. 

241 


242        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

Before  the  car  had  been  brought  to  a  stop  Man- 
ning was  swarming  over  the  running-board  and 
grasping  at  the  hand  of  a  long-lost  brother. 

"  I  knew  you'd  come  back,"  he  exulted.  "  I  was 
giving  Margaret  odds  you'd  be  here  before  the  end 
of  the  week.  For  how  long?" 

"  Only  a  few  minutes,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  Lati- 
mer  stammered.  There  was  no  pretense  about  his 
regret  in  the  presence  of  Manning's  warm  outpour- 
ing, of  Margaret's  quiet  smile  of  welcome,  and  that 
interesting  young  person  Winifred  who  obviously 
demanded  a  more  intensive  study  than  their  one 
meeting  had  afforded. 

"  I  have  your  promise,"  wailed  Manning.  "  I 
have  been  loading  up  for  you  all  this  time.  If  you 
throw  me  down,  life  will  be  unbearable  for 
Margaret." 

"  You  are  taking  advantage,"  said  Latimer  and 
smiled  down  at  the  girl  who  had  given  him  her 
hand  over  the  hood  of  the  machine.  "  You  are 
prettily  arrayed,  my  dear.  Was  it  in  my  honor  ?  " 

"  Holiday,  Dr.  Latimer,"  said  the  girl. 

"Not  the  Fourth  of  July?  That  is  some  time 
off." 

"  We  just  make  our  own  holidays,  when  we  feel 
like  it,"  Margaret  laughed. 


The  Insurgents  243 

"To  be  sure;  and  that  is  why  father," — 

"  I  am  like  the  lilies  of  the  field,"  said  Man- 
ning. "  Holidays  and  Sundays,  after  the  first 
feeding  in  the  chicken  sheds,  I  toil  not  neither  do 
I  spin.  I  put  on  this  red  necktie  and  Margaret 
sometimes  takes  me  to  church." 

"  With  a  good  conscience  ? "  Latimer  spoke,  for 
Manning's  own  ears. 

"  I  shed  my  conscience  about  the  year  1908, 
when  we  put  in  the  colored  supplement,"  said 
Manning  cheerfully.  "  Margaret  leads  me  to 
church  and  then  we  run  up  to  the  Grimsby's  where 
we  spend  the  morning  taking  it  out  of  all  institu- 
tions, ecclesiastical  and  otherwise.  We  were  on 
the  way  now.  You  will  come  along,  won't  you? 
Don't  spoil  Margaret's  day  for  her." 

Latimer  wavered. 

"  I  am  in  the  hands  of  my  friends,"  he  said,  and 
turned  to  his  commanding  officer  wno  sat  patiently 
enough  over  his  wheel  diagnosing  Winifred  with  a 
sympathetic  eye. 

"  You  must  all  come  up,"  Winifred  declared.  "  I 
want  to  get  better  acquainted  with  Dr.  Hartmann." 

"  And  who  gave  you  my  name,  young  woman  ?  " 
snapped  the  eminent  specialist.  Now  his  frown 
was  only  an  effort  to  hide  the  twinge  of  satisfac- 


244        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

tion  at  being  identified  by  an  extremely  presentable 
young  woman  with  an  intelligent  eye  and  a  con- 
fident, cleanly  smile. 

"  I  have  seen  you  in  court,"  said  Winifred. 

Our  travelers  went  pale.  Had  their  criminal 
record,  still  so  fresh,  found  them  out?  And  yet 
it  could  not  be,  with  Greensborough  twenty 
miles  away  and  presumably  no  wireless  com- 
munication. 

"  In  court  ?  "  stammered  Hartmann. 

"  Testifying  about  sweatshop  conditions  on  the 
East  Side,"  said  Winifred. 

Hartmann  endeavored  to  conceal  a  vast  sense  of 
relief  under  a  frivolous  manner. 

"  I  trust  you  found  nothing  to  censure  in  my 
testimony,"  he  said. 

"  It  stands  to  reason  that  you  would  look  at  the 
matter  from  a  somewhat  narrow  professional  point 
of  view,"  said  Winifred.  "  That's  why  I  thought 
if  the  opportunity  ever  came  up — " 

"  And  if  I  sdop  over  with  your  friends,  you  will 
be  kind  enough  to  point  out  just  where  I  suffered 
from  a  certain  opliquidy  of  vision  ?  " 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  said  Winifred. 

"  Jump  in  then,"  said  Hartmann,  flinging  open 
the  door  of  the  tonneau.  And  with  a  similar  ges- 


The  Insurgents  245 

ture  Latimer  beckoned  in  the  rejoicing  Manning 
and  Margaret  and  Polly. 

The  car  followed  the  main  road  for  a  quarter  of 
a  mile,  turned  down  a  curving  driveway,  and 
stormed  up  an  incline  through  a  lonely  greensward 
towards  a  big,  white  house,  squatting  amidst  a 
brood  of  wide  porches  and  greenhouses.  Lat- 
imer's  rich  appetite  for  spacious  ease  found  in- 
stant satisfaction. 

"  The  Grimsbys  are  who  ? "  he  asked,  twisting 
back  in  his  seat  so  as  to  smile  at  Margaret  and  di- 
rect his  question  to  Manning. 

"  Young  Grimsby  is  a  millionaire,  if  that  means 
anything  to  you  nowadays,"  replied  Manning. 

"  Oh !    And  what  are  you  doing  in  that  galley?  " 

"  He  is  also  a  Socialist.  At  least  he  was  last  Sun- 
day ;  he  may  be  well  in  the  anarchist  camp  by  to-day, 
or  again  he  may  be  following  the  Progressive  light." 

"Restless,  then?" 

"  You  can  always  count  on  rinding  half  a  dozen 
rebel  spirits  thriving  on  Grimsby's  hospitality. 
The  house  bulges  with  radical  thought- waves." 

"  Then  why  bring  me  here?  " 

"  Too  late  now,"  crowed  Manning  as  the  car 
swept  round  before  a  low  porch  and  stopped. 
Along  the  great  expanse  of  verandah  just  one 


246        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

figure  was  visible,  and  that  was  at  one  end  of  the 
house,  where,  half  concealed  by  a  pillar,  an  old 
lady  sat  in  a  rocking  chair  and  knitted. 

"  Mrs.  Grimsby  the  elder,"  said  Manning  quietly, 
and  led  the  way  inside.  The  sun  was  switched  off 
as  they  entered  this  enormous,  cool,  darkened 
chamber.  Latimer  caught  the  impression  of  great 
stretches  of  dark-stained  flooring;  walls  palisaded 
with  low  bookshelves,  from  which  the  reds  and 
greens  supplied  the  only  high  touches  of  color  in 
the  rooms;  couches  and  chairs  of  glorious  ampli- 
tude and  softness;  and  a  huge  rough-hewn  fire- 
place banked  with  ferns.  His  fingers  itched  im- 
mediately for  those  rows  of  gleaming  volumes,  and 
his  back  ached  for  the  luxuriant  upholstery. 

Manning  conducted  them  to  a  corner  near  the 
fire-place  where,  in  the  heavy  shadows,  two  women 
posed  on  the  edge  of  a  divan  in  an  Alma  Tadema 
tableau,  and  made  up  the  audience  for  a  young  man 
who  sat  at  their  feet  on  a  low  tabouret  and  read 
from  a  volume  which  lay  flat  before  him  on  the 
floor,  his  fingers  pressing  back  the  pages.  With- 
out seeing  the  young  man's  face  Latimer  was  pre- 
pared to  dislike  him  instantly.  But  said  interlocu- 
tory judgment  was  interrupted  by  the  blond  woman 
who  leaped  up — was  she  glad  of  the  respite  we 


The  Insurgents  247 

wonder? — and  stared  at  them  from  under  the 
shade  of  her  hand. 

"  Dr.  Latimer !    Hartmann !  " 

"  Mrs.  Jamieson,"  cried  Latimer  joyfully.  "  And 
the  Auditorium  ?  " 

She  waved  triumphant  palms  above  her  head. 

"  Settled !    The  labor  people  agree  to  take  it." 

"  Mrs.  Douglas  Grimsby,  my  friends,"  Manning 
introduced,  and  the  second  lady  rose  to  welcome 
her  unknown  and  unexpected  guests.  No,  she  did 
not  rise.  Mrs.  Grimsby  swam  up,  wafted  up, 
wraithlike,  to  slim  and  extraordinary  heights,  in  an 
integument  of  tawny,  bronze,  dull  red  draperies, 
and  gave  them  welcome  with  a  mystic  smile  of  the 
lips  and  smoldering  eyes,  that  made  Latimer  think 
of  seraglios,  old  Nile,  Chopin,  Aubrey  Beardsley, 
and  the  Russian  ballet,  all  in  one.  It  made  him 
uncomfortable  to  have  that  rich  voluptuous  gaze 
envelop  him,  caress  him,  utter  unfathomable  invi- 
tations to  him,  as  though  their  two  souls,  sepa- 
rated during  aeons,  had  found  each  other  at  last. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,"  said  Mrs.  Grimsby. 

Well,  that  was  a  relief.  And  it  was  better  still 
when  the  same  rich,  enervating  gaze  was  turned 
with  undiminished  power  upon  Hartmann,  upon 
Manning,  and  best  of  all  upon  Margaret  and  Wini- 


248        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

fred  and  Polly.  The  hunted  feeling  entirely  left 
him. 

"  Mr.  Dawson,"  Mrs.  Grimsby  presented,  indi- 
cating the  young  man  on  the  tabouret.  "  You  read 
him  every  week,  of  course  ?  " 

"  I  never  read  anything,"  said  Hartmann  and 
went  to  sit  down  near  Mrs.  Jamieson  and  talk 
about  our-door  hospitals.  Latimer  envied  him  his 
brutal  courage.  A  closer  study  of  Dawson  con- 
firmed Latimer  in  the  opinion  he  had  formed  of 
the  man  on  a  first  view  of  the  back  of  his  head. 
Dawson  was  slight  and  pink  cheeked.  But  if  that 
could  have  been  forgiven,  he  sported  an  abortive 
wisp  of  a  mustache  which  might  be  tolerated,  per- 
haps, in  the  commander  of  a  bombing  party  in 
Flanders,  but  was  a  crime  in  civic  life. 

"  Damn  this  slim-waisted,  lisping  generation," 
sputtered  Latimer  inwardly.  And  if  some  one 
should  rise  to  suggest  that  his  wrath  was  traceable 
to  the  way  in  which  Dawson  lifted  himself  from 
the  floor  and  took  possession  of  Winifred  and 
Margaret,  the  available  data  in  the  present  writer's 
hands  offer  nothing  in  refutation.  This  much  is 
certain :  that  the  more  Winifred  flashed  back  at  the 
teasing,  drawling  tones  of  the  young  man — how  he 
did  sprawl  in  that  chair! — and  the  more  Margaret 


Made  Latimer  think  of  seraglios 


The  Insurgents  249 

sat  entranced  by  the  din  of  combat  between  the 
two,  the  more  intense  grew  Latimer's  conviction 
that  Dawson  was  not  worth  thinking  about — con- 
found him! 

It  was  otherwise  with  the  master  of  the  house 
who  now  joined  them.  He  entered  abruptly  from 
his  study,  an  open  book  pressed  down  on  the  palm 
of  his  left  hand  with  the  right,  as  on  a  reading 
desk,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  page.  "  My  dear, 
listen  to  this,"  he  called  out,  before  he  was  aware 
of  strangers.  Grimsby  was  not  much  over  thirty, 
and  straight  out  of  the  Middle  West.  In  him,  how- 
ever, the  Lincoln  ruggedness  had  thinned  down  al- 
most to  frailty,  and  the  Lincoln  contours  had 
refined,  smoothened,  weakened  perhaps,  into  a  sen- 
sitive and  patrician  beauty.  He  was  thin  to  the 
point  of  emaciation.  An  enormous  stretch  of  leg 
seemed  to  curl  all  about  him  and  had  enough  left 
over  to  project  into  space  out  of  the  roomy  chair 
in  which  Grimsby  ensconced  himself.  And  in  the 
eyes  a  stare — Yes,  decided  Latimer  without  diffi- 
culty— fanaticism.  All  in  all,  a  winning  if  dis- 
turbing manifestation,  this  descendant  of  New 
England  by  way  of  the  Middle  West  and  Okla- 
homa. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Grimsby  when  he  had  accepted 


250        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

his  visitors  with  a  warm,  long  smile,  "  listen  to 
this." 

For  the  next  half -hour  Grimsby  read  aloud 
from  the  book  which  he  had  brought  with  him, 
from  weeklies  and  monthlies  and  quarterlies  which 
he  garnered  from  tables  and  shelves  with  eager 
fingers.  He  read  from  Sorel,  from  Liebknecht, 
from  Labriola,  from  Vandervelde.  He  quoted  from 
Snowden,  from  Norman  Angell,  from  Tugan- 
Baranowsky — and  what  sort  of  creature  might  that 
be?  wondered  Latimer — from  Copenhagen  sum- 
maries of  obviously  inspired  communiques  in  the 
Vienna  Neue  Freie  Presse  as  reported  in  the 
Lausanne  Gazette  and  commented  upon  in  the 
Madrid  Impartial.  And  Mrs.  Grimsby  listened 
with  that  hieratic  smile,  that  smouldering  sugges- 
tion of  sensuous  spaces  and  eternities  in  which  her 
soul  must  have  been  at  one  with  Tugan-Baranowsky 
— if  that  was  the  way  the  fellow  spelt  his  name 
— and  Liebknecht,  and  Norman  Angell.  In  the  be- 
ginnings of  time  Latimer  saw  Mrs.  Grimsby 
wrapped  in  mystic  nebulae  reading  the  Neue  Freie 
Presse. 

"  I  understand  you  are  in  the  poultry  business," 
Hartmann's  voice  boomed  out,  and  Latimer  turned 
upon  him  eyes  of  infinite  gratitude.  What  a  man 


The  Insurgents  251 

was  that,  what  a  man!  What  a  heart  of  gold! 
And  if  Manning  looked  up  in  pain,  and  frantically 
motioned  that  abominable  inquiry  about  poultry 
out  of  this  religious  atmosphere,  that  was  proper, 
too,  for  a  soul  as  hungry  as  Manning's. 

In  the  course  of  the  half  hour,  several  desperate 
endeavors  were  made  in  that  luxurious  chamber  to 
break  through  the  barrage  of  Grimsby's  citations 
concerning  war  and  the  future  of  the  labor  move- 
ment. Mrs.  Jamieson  attempted  to  bring  up  the 
need  of  a  Red  Cross  bazaar  among  the  summer  colo- 
nists in  the  vicinity,  and  was  repelled  with  heavy 
loss.  Winifred  led  a  forlorn  hope  about  a  picnic 
which  had  been  for  some  days  under  discussion,  and 
melted  away  under  the  Grimsby  curtain  of  fire. 
Even  Manning  was  stirred  to  commiseration  for 
his  guests — though  it  must  have  been  a  quiet  nod 
of  Margaret's  that  warned  him.  But  his  burlesque 
pretense  of  anxiety  about  his  holiday  dinner 
brought  from  Grimsby  a  friendly  smile  and  a  quo- 
tation from  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.  From 
sullen  resentment  Hartmann  passed  to  wonder. 
His  eyes  met  Latimer's  in  amazement  at  this 
Grimsby  soul  which  could  be  so  passionate  about 
the  wrongs  of  Labor  and  so  impenetrable  to  this 
hideous  suffering  at  his  elbow.  It  became  for 


252        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

Hartmann  and  Latimer  a  fascinating  inquiry  in 
monomania. 

When  Grimsby  had  done  reading  he  gathered  up 
his  volumes,  pamphlets,  and  clippings  and  returned 
to  his  library.  What  would  have  been  rank  dis- 
courtesy in  any  one  else,  seemed  only  matter  of 
fact  for  this  ardent  young  spirit,  exclusively  alive 
with  its  own  ideas.  He  had  emerged  from  his 
workroom  because  he  needed  an  audience;  one  per- 
son would  have  been  enough.  His  need  appeased, 
it  would  be  affectation  to  put  himself  out  for  the 
conventional  requirements  of  hospitality.  It  was 
a  higher  hospitality  to  claim  for  himself  the  same 
freedom  which  he  assumed  his  guests  would  de- 
mand. 

"  The  beautiful  and  sad  thing  about  old  Doug- 
las," said  Dawson  when  the  door  had  closed 
behind  Grimsby,  "  is  his  tragic  confidence  in  a 
new  world  that  can  be  built  up  out  of  the  old 
wreckage." 

"  And  how  then  would  you  go  about  building 
your  world  ?  "  barked  Latimer,  preparing  to  shed 
his  accumulated  sorrows  upon  Dawson's  devoted 
head. 

"  Clean  sweep,  and  start  all  over  again,"  said 
Dawson,  with  a  decisiveness  that  Latimer  bitterly 


The  Insurgents  253 

resented  out  of  those  girlish  lips  under  the  chiaro- 
scuro mustache. 

"  But  surely  something  in  the  present  life  has 
worth,  or  at  least  a  title  to  forbearance,"  growled 
Latimer. 

"  What  for  instance  ?  "  lisped  Dawson. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
LATIMER  MOUNTS  A  SOAP-BOX 

.  .  .  "Not  at  all/'  said  Latimer,  "there  is, 
very  emphatically,  such  a  thing  as  the  glory  of 
war.  If  you  know  where  to  look  for  it." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Dawson  wearily.  "  The 
romance  of  war;  the  spirit  of  sacrifice;  a  nation 
rising  as  one  man  to  the  call  of  duty.  There's  as 
much  romance  to  a  battle  nowadays  as  to  a  coat- 
and-pants  factory." 

Latimer  looked  at  Margaret  and  kept  himself  in 
hand. 

"  I  agree,"  he  said  sweetly.  "  But  that  is 
enough,  isn't  it?  Our  contemporary  magazine 
literature  is  aglow  with  the  romance  of  Business. 
There  is  the  Romance  of  Standard  Oil  and  the 
Romance  of  Bethlehem  Steel  and  the  Romance  of 
the  Western  Union  and  of  the  United  States  Bis- 
cuit Company.  By  which  people  mean  the  ro- 
mance of  very  big  things  that  were  once  very 
small  things.  On  the  score  of  bigness  there  is 

something  to  be  said  for  the  war." 

254 


Latimer  Mounts  a  Soap-Box         255 

"Big?  Yes,"  laughed  Dawson.  "Twenty  mil- 
lion men  up  to  their  waists  in  the  mud,  challenging 
vermin  and  pneumonia  for  a  cause  they  know 
nothing  about." 

"  Well,  perhaps,"  said  Latimer.  "  Assume  that 
there  is  as  little  flaming  enthusiasm  in  this  war 
as  there  was,  let  us  say,  in  the  French  Revolution 
or  the  Crusades  or  the  battle  of  Marathon.  Let  us 
admit  that  the  Idea,  Duty,  Liberty,  Country,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing  exist  mainly  in  the  news- 
papers which  stir  up  war,  and  the  sculptors  and 
painters  who  commemorate  it.  Probably  the  farmer 
of  '76  did  not  march  to  battle  with  quite  the  glow 
depicted  in  The  Spirit  of  '76;  and  the  French  Revo- 
lutionary armies  were  undoubtedly  conscripted; 
and  the  Crusades  were  nourished  largely  by  a 
spirit  of  boredom  and  the  hope  of  plunder.  Let 
us  admit  that  at  all  times  the  generality  of  men 
have  been  patriots  because  they  have  had  to  be. 
I  will  go  so  far  even  as  to  say  that  Mr.  Dawson's 
Social  Revolution  will  be  brought  about  by  a 
popular  army  of  indifferents  and  illiterates  and 
cowards  around  a  nucleus  of  red-blooded  two-fisted 
men  who  love  the  excitement  of  the  thing,  and 
they  in  turn  led  by  a  few  men  who  know  what 
they  are  about." 


256        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  That's  rather  hard  on  Dawson,"  grinned  Man- 
ning. "  And  what  is  more,  I  don't  believe  you 
mean  it." 

"  Besides,"  interrupted  Hartmann,  "  I  want  to 
get  into  New  York  before  midnight." 

"  I  mean  it  very  seriously  within  the  limitations 
of  the  argument  imposed  upon  me  by  Mr.  Daw- 
son,"  said  Latimer.  "  That  is,  if  there  is  no  glory 
in  the  present  war,  then  there  has  never  been  glory 
and  never  will  be.  Can't  you  see,  my  dear  Man- 
ning, how  absurd  it  is  to  argue  that  there  has  been 
romance  in  the  past  and  will  be  in  the  future,  but 
that  there  is  none  to-day  just  because  we  are  too 
close  to  the  reek  of  the  trenches,  the  mud,  the  pain, 
the  monotony  that  drives  men  mad,  and  the  ignoble 
tricks  of  the  diplomats?  War  close  at  hand  has 
always  been  like  that;  and  not  only  war.  What 
were  the  wire-pullings  and  ignoble  bargains,  I  won- 
der, that  preceded  Constantine's  conversion  to 
Christianity?  What  was  the  process  of  petty  book- 
keeping and  bribe-giving  that  preceded  the  sailing 
of  three  small  vessels  from  the  harbor  of  Palos  in 
1492?  What  were  the  intrigues  and  the  hypocrisies 
and  egotisms  that  ushered  in  the  first  performance 
of  Tristan ?  Either  there  is  no  glory  to  life  at  any 
time,  or  there  is  glory  to  life  at  all  times;  to  the 


Latimer  Mounts  a  Soap-Box         257 

men  who  are  now  twisting  with  rheumatism  and 
vermin  around  Verdun  as  to  the  men  who  hungered 
and  scoffed  and  dragged  their  gangrened  limbs 
under  the  banner  of  Joan  of  Arc.  I  don't  believe 
that  the  Maid  of  Orleans's  soldiers  were  any  more 
holy  or  ardent  than  Joffre's  men." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Winifred. 
"  Do  you  or  don't  you  believe  that  the  soldiers 
to-day  are  inspired  by  an  idea  ?  " 

"  Not  consciously,  my  dear,  as  far  as  the  great 
majority  is  concerned.  It  is  only  afterwards  that 
the  formula-maker  looks  over  the  facts  and  dis- 
covers that  on  the  Somme  or  in  the  Carpathians 
half  a  million  men  gave  their  lives  for  an  idea.  It 
is  not  for  the  idea  of  Fatherland  or  Democracy 
that  most  of  them  stand  in  trenches,  thinking  only 
of  food  and  sleep,  pumping  their  rifles  at  an  unseen 
foe  whom  they  do  not  hate  except  as  the  cause 
that  keeps  them  up  to  the  waist  in  water  and  with- 
out food  and  sleep.  They  do  it  as  a  matter  of 
course." 

"  Exactly,"  cried  Dawson.  "  Just  as  before  the 
war  they  shoveled  coal  or  piled  manure  or  posted 
up  ledgers  as  a  matter  of  course.  Where  is  the 
glory  in  that  ?  " 

"  Only  the  glory  that  abides  in  fidelity  to  the 


2$ 8        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

job,"  said  Latimer.  "  That  is  the  glory  which  at- 
taches to  the  great  mass  of  mankind  in  peace  and 
in  war.  The  more  you  make  war  mechanical,  the 
more  you  reduce  it  to  the  technique  of  a  biscuit- 
factory  or  a  coat-and-pants  factory,  by  that  much 
more  you  emphasize  the  essential  glory  of  the 
common  man's  instinct  for  seeing  a  job  through. 
The  glory  of  war  stands  out  when  you  think  of 
war,  not  as  romance  or  duty  or  sacrifice  or  idea, 
but  as  Work.  Bill  and  Tommy  and  Jean  and  Hans 
in  the  trenches  may  curse  at  the  diplomats  who 
have  brought  them  into  the  mess,  grumble  at  the 
officers  who  lead  them  into  death-traps,  at  the  com- 
missariat that  underfeeds  them,  at  the  orderlies 
who  come  too  late  with  their  stretchers  and  mor- 
phine; but  that  is  precisely  the  same  way  in  which 
a  man  responds  to  his  employer,  his  foreman,  and 
his  grocer  and  butcher  in  peace-time.  Few  of  us, 
in  the  normal  life,  relish  the  particular  job  set  for 
us,  but  the  job  as  a  whole  is  something  which  will 
not  admit  of  question.  Suppose  we  do  ask  the 
men  in  the  trenches  why  they  are  fighting  and  they 
cannot  tell  us  why.  What  then  ?  They  are  fighting 
because  for  the  time  being  war  is  Work." 

"  Latimer,"   said   Hartmann,   "  I  will  now  pro- 
ceed outside  to  look  over  the  car  and  I  will  sound 


Latimer  Mounts  a  Soap-Box          259 

the  horn  three  times  at  five-minute  intervals. 
After  the  third  plast,  I  debart." 

He  shook  hands  and  went  out. 

"  If  you  wish,"  said  Latimer  to  Manning,  "  you 
may  say  that  this  is  the  tragedy  as  well  as  the  glory 
of  war;  that  men  who  would  rather  build  are  ordered 
to  burn,  men  who  would  rather  sow  and  reap  are 
ordered  to  lay  waste,  men  who  would  rather  create 
are  ordered  to  destroy.  But  whatever  may  be  the 
spiritual  condition  of  the  men  on  top  who  issue 
the  orders,  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  men 
who  obey  orders.  It  is  the  passion  for  work — mis- 
directed, perverted,  betrayed;  but  the  passion  is 
there.  Precisely  because  war  has  been  bereft  of 
its  glow,  its  adventure,  its  variety,  and  has  been 
reduced  to  a  monotone  of  mud  and  blood  and  suf- 
fering, it  is  a  tribute  to  the  spirit  that  will  bend 
to  the  task.  As  between  the  man  who  says,  "  I  die 
for  France,"  and  the  man  who  says,  "  It's  in  the 
day's  work,"  it  is  the  latter  who  expresses  the 
higher  and  more  permanent  sentiment." 

"  To  be  sure,"  sneered  Dawson ;  "  the  dignity  of 
labor." 

Latimer  got  to  his  feet  with  a  lurch  and  strode 
close  to  Dawson.  His  face  was  flushed  and  his 
breath  came  in  little  puffs  from  his  distended 


260        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

nostrils.  Margaret  jumped  up,  as  much  in  alarm 
for  Latimer  as  for  Dawson.  But  it  was  not  to 
be  assault  and  battery  except  in  a  legal  sense. 
Latimer's  heavy  hand  fell  upon  Dawson's  shoul- 
der and  forced  that  slender  youth  deep  into  his 
chair. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Latimer,  "  we  may  as  well 
have  it  out  now  and  for  all.  Listen  to  me." 

"  But  I  assure  you  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you, 
Dr.  Latimer,"  cried  the  frightened  young  icono- 
clast. "  Nothing  except  honest  intellectual  differ- 
ences." 

For  all  her  anxiety  Margaret  had  to  turn  away 
and  smile. 

"  For  some  time,"  said  Latimer,  "  I  have,  more 
or  less  consecutively,  tried  to  classify  you,  Mr. 
Dawson.  I  have  tried  to  place  you  as  socialist, 
aesthete,  anarchist,  pagan,  reformer,  progressive, 
and  have  found  it  difficult  to  decide  upon  the  exact 
category.  But  now  I  have  it.  You  are  essentially 
none  of  the  things  I  have  mentioned,  Mr.  Dawson. 
You  are  just  a  puppy." 

"  Hello,"  said  Manning;  and  he  fell  to  packing 
tobacco  into  his  pipe  at  top  speed. 

"  That,"  said  Dawson  with  a  forced  smile,  "  is 
one  of  the  privileges  which  old  age  formerly  was 


Latimer  Mounts  a  Soap -Box         261 

supposed  to  possess.  As  a  substitute  for  reason, 
calling  names  is  a  traditional  mode  of  attack." 

He  tried  to  rise  from  the  chair,  but  that  solid 
hand  pressed  him  down. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Latimer.  "  I  am  going  to 
presume  a  little  further  on  this  privilege  you  have 
mentioned.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  why  and  how 
you  are  a  puppy.  This  you  are  not  in  your  indi- 
vidual character,  which  I  find  rather  attractive,  but 
to  the  extent  that  you  are  the  victim  of  an  all  too 
common  attitude." 

The  first  blare  of  the  auto  horn  was  hailed  with 
silent  relief  by  all  but  one  in  the  room.  It  might 
interrupt  a  state  of  tension  which  was  growing 
painful.  Latimer  alone  failed  to  hear  Hartmann's 
signal. 

"  Now  the  outstanding  attribute  of  the  puppy 
psychology,"  said  Latimer,  "  is  its  lack  of  piety  for 
all  things,  including  itself.  I  do  not,  for  instance, 
ask  you  to  reverence  me  or  the  things  I  believe  in. 
But  I  might  ask  you  not  to  slur  the  things  you 
yourself  profess  to  believe  in.  Take  this  Dignity 
of  Labor." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  take,"  said  Dawson. 

"  That  was  the  meaning  of  your  sneer,"  said 
Latimer.  "  You  meant  that  it  was  a  shoddy  badge 


262        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

of  honor,  devised  by  the  oppressors  of  labor  to 
soothe  the  oppressed.  You  meant  that  we  under- 
pay the  workman  in  wages  and  make  it  up  in  dig- 
nity. You  meant  that  we  speak  of  dignity  of  labor 
while  we,  of  the  upper  classes,  would  do  almost 
anything  in  the  world  but  labor.  You  meant  that 
in  our  hearts  we  consider  the  workingman  a  foot- 
less idiot,  and  that  we  see  no  dignity  in  his  stunted 
figure,  or  in  his  rags,  or  in  his  meek  submission 
to  injustice." 

"  You  have  stated  it  admirably,  Dr.  Latimer," 
said  Dawson. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  now,"  said  Latimer,  "  what 
the  effect  has  been  upon  me  of  much  reading  in 
the  literature  of  the  wrongs  of  labor.  And  it  is 
this :  no  exploiter  of  labor,  in  his  inmost  heart,  has 
ever  thought  concerning  the  workingmen  the  dis- 
gusting and  degrading  things  which  are  the  com- 
monplaces of  your  conversation  and  your  oratory." 

"  Too  harsh,  too  harsh,"  said  Manning. 

"  The  simple  truth,"  cried  Latimer.  "  Unques- 
tionably you  have  meant  well,  but  there  are  the 
facts.  Long  before  there  was  a  '  social  con- 
science '  in  this  country,  you  will  recall,  Manning, 
the  newspaper  cartoonist  had  found  his  type  for 
Labor  just  as  he  had  his  type  for  Capital  and 


Latimer  Mounts  a  Soap-Box         263 

Uncle  Sam  and  Liberty,  and  what  not.  And  how 
was  Labor  represented?  As  a  splendid  male,  of 
thews  and  muscle,  bare-armed,  with  leather  apron 
and  sledge-hammer,  a  figure  the  Greeks  would 
have  loved.  This  type  of  labor  survives — in  the 
capitalist  press.  But  when  your  Radical  and  So- 
cialist friends  of  Labor  draw  a  cartoon,  it  is  of  a 
slave  and  a  defective,  a  semi-Caliban.  And  when 
you  begin  to  elaborate  on  your  picture,  good 
heavens,  what  is  there  that  you  have  not  said  about 
the  worker  in  the  way  of  calumny!  In  order  to 
drive  home  your  case  against  the  capitalist  system, 
you  have  not  hesitated — My  dear  Dawson,  do  you 
know  what  you  have  behaved  like?  Like  the  in- 
genious people  who  make  a  living  by  bringing 
accident  suits  against  street-railway  corporations. 
You  are  the  fake  doctors  who  swear  to  fictitious 
damage  suffered  by  plaintiff,  backbone  permanently 
wrenched,  eyesight  affected,  nervous  system  shat- 
tered, in  addition  to  that  bona  fide  twisted  ankle." 

:'  You  deny  exploitation  and  poverty?"  said 
Dawson. 

"  Never  as  bad  as  you  would  make  it  out,  my 
dear  fellow.  Say  that  we  of  the  capitalist  classes 
had  our  reason  for  speaking  of  the  dignity  of 
labor;  still  we  did  assign  the  worker  a  quality.  You 


264        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

speak  of  him  as  a  brute.  We  poetified  the  laborer 
in  his  cottage;  with  you  he  never  has  a  home, 
but  a  den;  with  you  the  worker  is  a  slum-dweller. 
We  used  to  draw  chromos  of  the  worker  on  Satur- 
day night,  with  the  children  at  his  knee.  You  deny 
him  the  capacity  for  playing  the  father  and  the 
husband, — because  he  is  overworked  to  be  sure,  but 
you  deny  him  his  humanity  just  the  same.  Strange, 
isn't  it?  that  good  old  mossbacks  like  our  ancient 
ballad-writers  should  have  written  of  jolly  millers 
on  the  Dee;  that  a  fine  crusted  Whig  like  Macaulay 
should  speak  of  sturdy  butchers  who  rush  from  the 
stall  with  cleaver  in  hand  to  hew  down  thrones 
and  tyrants;  that  a  cavalier  like  Walter  Scott 
should  have  been  fascinated  by  the  jolly  apprentice 
lads  of  the  mediaeval  towns;  but  that  you,  the  cham- 
pions of  labor,  should  always  be  speaking  of  the 
laborer  as  the  mean,  abject,  soulless,  joyless,  ap- 
petiteless  brute." 

"  This  is  what  the  factory  system  has  done  for 
the  free  workers  of  former  days,"  said  Winifred. 

"  Go  to  the  head  of  the  class,  my  child.  You 
have  said  your  lesson  perfectly,"  smiled  Latimer. 
"  But  you  know  it  is  all  nonsense,  this  chatter  about 
the  whir  of  the  wheels  and  the  monotony  of  the 
factory  and  the  worker  reduced  to  a  cog  in  the 


Latimer  Mounts  a  Soap-Box         265 

machine.  Do  you  really  think  that  the  peasant  in 
the  field,  that  slow,  patient  ox,  gets  more  of  the 
joy  out  of  life,  more  variety,  more  human  excite- 
ment, than  your  factory-worker?  Do  you  believe 
that  the  men  and  women  who  broke  their  backs 
over  the  spinning  wheels  in  the  old  cottages,  had 
more  freedom,  more  leisure,  more  creative  impulse 
than  your  cotton  operatives  of  to-day?  Why  are 
the  young  men  and  women  crowding  from  the 
country  into  the  towns?  Is  it  for  the  gray  life  of 
the  factory,  or  is  it  for  the  movies?  My  dear 
young  man,  there  is  more  of  the  joy  of  life  and 
more  of  health  in  the  city-worker  to-day  than  the 
workers  have  known  at  any  time  in  the  history  of 
labor.  But  it  is  a  big  subject  and  does  not  concern 
me  at  present." 

The  auto  horn  outside  broke  into  a  fury  of  pro- 
test. Manning  walked  to  the  window  and  with  his 
arms  semaphored  to  Hartmann  for  a  few  moments' 
indulgence. 

"  The  plain  fact  is,  of  course,  that  your  labor 
champions,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world, 
have  blackened  the  character  of  labor.  What 
have  you  done  for  the  women  of  the  workers? 
This :  in  order  to  drive  home  your  plea  for  minimum 
wages,  for  shorter  hours, — just  and  inevitable,  I 


266         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

feel, — you  have  not  been  ashamed  to  create  the  im- 
pression that  every  daughter  of  the  workers  is  a 
potential  recruit,  a  probable  recruit,  for  prostitu- 
tion; and  some  of  your  most  ardent  friends  of  the 
working-class  have  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  they 
do  not  blame  the  working-girl  who  sells  herself  in 
order  to  purchase  the  comforts  which  society  de- 
nies her.  Pah ! " 

"  Easily  verifiable  by  statistics,"  said  Dawson. 

"  Ladimer !  "  shouted  Hartmann,  looming  up  in 
the  doorway :  "  is  it  your  indention  dot  I  perish  of 
aboblexy  on  the  open  highway?  Come!" 

"  Away  with  your  nasty  formulas  of  the  slum- 
dweller!  The  father  brutalized  by  toil;  the  bestial 
mother  who  is  incapable  of  affection  and  service  to 
her  children;  the  boy  who  is  destined  to  grow  up 
a  criminal;  the  girl  who  is  destined  to  walk  the 
streets!  I  doubt  if  for  the  sake  of  your  good  in- 
tentions it  will  ever  be  forgiven  you  that  you  have 
degraded  the  worker.  And  the  horror  of  it  is  the 
magnificent  opportunity  you  have  missed! 

"  What  an  argument  you  might  have  made  of  it ! 
You  might  have  said,  '  Look :  in  the  face  of  ex- 
hausting labor,  of  continuous  anxiety  about  liveli- 
hood, of  the  permanent  menace  of  ill  health  and 
old  age,  see  how  strong  the  worker  is,  how  cheery, 


Latimer  Mounts  a  Soap-Box         267 

how  capable  of  the  elemental  joys  of  parenthood, 
neighborliness,  charity,  unselfish  devotion  to  the 
common  interest ! '  You  might  have  shown  that, 
whereas  business  is  a  combat  in  which  friend  does 
not  spare  friend,  and  brother  brother,  the  unionized 
worker  will  not  hesitate  to  endure  starvation  in  de- 
fense of  his  class  interests.  And  then  you  should 
have  said,  *  If  this  treasure  of  fine  manhood  and 
clean  womanhood  can  persist  in  spite  of  our 
iniquitous  economic  system,  what  would  not  the 
worker  become  if  he  received  his  due?'  Instead 
of  denying  the  dignity  of  labor  you  should  have 
enhanced  it,  exaggerated  it,  and  made  it  the  title 
for  greater  claims  and  greater  privileges.  Every- 
thing, Dawson,  can  be  forgiven  except  the  sin 
against  the  spirit;  against  the  spirit  of  the  working 
masses  whom  you  have  reduced  to  slum-dwellers 
and  candidates  for  the  brothel.  Pah! — Good-by, 
Manning.  I  will  write  you.  Good-by,  Margaret," 
— and  he  bent  his  lips  to  hers.  "  Good-by,  Daw- 
son.  Home,  Hartmann." 

"  But  will  you  not  stay  for  luncheon  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Grimsby.  The  caressing  tone  and  the  fathomless 
smile  in  the  dark  eyes,  made  it  not  an  invitation  to 
luncheon,  but  a  summons  to  flee  with  her  to  some 


268         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

rocky  fastness  in  the  Caucasus  there  to  lose  his  soul 
in  dizzy  pleasures  amidst  a  Leon  Bakst  setting. 

He  forced  himself  to  the  exigencies  of  every  day 
courtesy. 

"  Dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  I  have  intruded  upon 
your  presence  and  insulted  your  guests  and  you 
offer  me  luncheon.  What  I  need  is  solitude  to  feel 
ashamed." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  has  been  very  stimulating," 
she  said  and  offered  him  her  hand.  "  If  you 
must  go — " 

"  I  am  pledged,"  and  he  pointed  to  Hartmann 
who  was  already  out  of  the  door.  But  now  Man- 
ning was  plucking  at  his  elbow. 

"You  are  not  going  home?"  he  cried  pitifully. 
"  You  promised.  I  have  been  waiting  all  these 
days.  And  Margaret  has  the  extra  bedroom  ready. 
You  promised,  Latimer.  Only  a  week,  if  you  in- 
sist; that  much  you  must  give  me." 

"  But  I  have  likewise  promised  Hartmann,"  Lati- 
mer wavered. 

The  three  men  were  now  out  on  the  verandah, 
and  found  themselves  near  to  the  old  lady  in  black, 
knitting  in  an  angle  of  the  bay  window  sheltered 
against  the  sun.  Manning  was  ready  for  any 
weapon  that  offered  itself. 


Latimer  Mounts  a  Soap-Box         269 

"  Mrs.  Grimsby,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  introduce 
Dr.  Latimer." 

The  old  lady  bowed,  smiled,  and  went  on  knit- 
ting. 

"  She  wants  you  to  sit  down;  she  wants  to  talk 
to  you,"  said  Manning. 

But  as  Latimer  sank  gratefully  into  a  rocking 
chair,  Hartmann,  now  fearing  the  worst,  came 
forward. 

"  May  I  have  a  word  with  you,  in  brivate, 
Ladimer?" 

They  stepped  aside. 

"Are  you  coming  with  me  or  are  you  not? 
Speak  oud,"  Hartmann  hissed. 

"  How  can  I,  without  the  rankest  discourtesy  to 
Mrs.  Grimsby  who  has  just  requested  me  to  sit  near 
her?  And  Manning — " 

"  Mrs.  Grimsby  means  a  few  minutes.  But  Man- 
ning how  long?  " 

"  He  said  a  week." 

"  A  week !  Ladimer,  I  am  now  utterly  gonvinced 
that  you  are  a  weagling  and  a  fraud." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  of  that?  " 

"  Peyond  question.  Now  if  you  want,  you  can 
tell  me  to  go  to  the  devil." 

"  I   wish  him  no   such   good   luck,   Hartmann. 


270         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  professionally,  don't  you 
think  I  ought  to  prolong  my  holiday?  Now  that  I 
am  near  to  the  city  I  grow  afraid."  And  as  Hart- 
mann  glared  indignation,  "  I  promise,  I  will  look 
you  up  in  town." 

"  Brovided  that  you  don't  land  in  chail  indefi- 
nitely," grumbled  the  other,  but  it  was  a  hard  task 
and  a  wide  smile  cleft  the  storm.  "  Take  care  of 
yourself,  you  Sybarite.  It  has  been  a  great  bleas- 
eure."  He  clapped  Latimer  hard  on  the  shoulder 
and  ran  down  the  steps  and  into  the  car.  But  when 
he  was  out  of  sight,  Manning,  with  a  magnificent 
gesture  of  triumph,  disappeared  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
AN  INTERVIEW 

OLD  Mrs.  Grimsby  received  Latimer's  apologies 
for  his  brief  absence  with  a  nod  and  without  in- 
terrupting operations  on  a  half-finished  sock.  The 
play  of  the  four  steel  needles  in  her  gnarled  fingers 
soothed  Latimer  into  forgetfulness  of  Hartmann, 
of  Manning,  of  remorse.  The  steel  needles  car- 
ried him  fifty  years  back  from  Dawson  and  the 
Social  Urge.  How  pleasant  to  lie  back  in  the 
warmth  of  approaching  noon  and  let  these  twinkling 
needles,  and  the  resolute  fingers,  and  the  motherly 
eyes  trained  on  distant  vacancy,  conjure  away  Daw- 
son  and  Grimsby  and  the  siren  his  wife, — every- 
thing. Incidentally  how  did  old  Mrs.  Grimsby 
thrive  in  this  ultra-modern  gallery?  Her's  was 
obviously  the  older  method  of  knitting,  a  lost  art, 
he  gathered  from  his  observations  in  public  con- 
veyances, where  women  knitted  painfully  with  two 
heavy  needles — of  celluloid,  was  it?  or  ivory  pos- 
sibly, to  match  the  great  silk  knitting-bags  with 
arabesques  and  Chinese  medallions.  It  was  a  tedi- 


272         Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

ous  labor  and  clumsy,  this  lifting  of  the  yarn  loop 
around  the  needle  and  pushing  it  into  place,  instead 
of  the  dive  and  swirl  with  which  his  own  mother's 
needles  used  to  capture  the  yarn  and  drive  it  tight, 
as  Mrs.  Grimsby  was  now  doing,  her  eyes  turned 
from  her  work  and  the  sock-wall  growing  under 
his  eyes  as  row  after  row  of  brick  slid  into  place, 
instead  of  being  lifted,  stupidly,  the  modern  way. 
That  was  because  his  mother,  and  Mrs.  Grimsby, 
knitted  with  one  eye  on  the  kitchen  and  the  other 
around  the  corner  on  the  children  at  the  chores, 
and  half  a  mind  on  the  old  man's  rheumatism  and 
the  other  on  the  delayed  letter  from  the  eldest  boy 
at  college,  and  various  minor  incidents  that  enter 
into  the  knitting  of  gray  socks  and  the  building  of 
a  nation.  Whereas  now  people  do  manage  to  listen 
to  the  Symphony  Orchestra  while  knitting,  but 
without  lifting  eyes  from  the  work,  and  as  for 
knitting  and  keeping  an  eye  on  the  little  girl  at  her 
piano  scales — as  his  mother  did  with  Harriet — and 
talking  over  the  next  church  fair  with  the  chair- 
man of  the  Arrangements  Committee,  that  was  a 
lost  art. 

Would  some  such  remarks  interest  Mrs.  Grimsby, 
he  wondered.  If  she  made  no  move  towards  con- 
versation it  would  be  because  it  was  his  duty.  But 


An  Interview  273 

he  was  tired  of  conversation,  especially — particu- 
larly— that  is — 

He  sat  up  with  a  start  and  wrenched  his  eyes 
open.  No,  he  had  not  slept  but  it  was  a  narrow 
escape.  Had  she  noticed?  Would  she  resent  it? 
Not  if  one  might  judge  from  the  free  gesture  with 
which  her  middle  ringer  shut  out  and  up,  unwind- 
ing a  stretch  of  yarn  that  immediately  began  to 
disappear  under  the  maw  of  those  four  steel  teeth. 
The  sock  had  gained  a  half  inch  in  height  under  the 
drive  of  those  twinkling  fingers,  sinewy  with  labor 
— Manning  had  told  him,  inside,  under  young 
Grimsby's  fire,  something  of  the  Grimsby  chronicle 
from  its  beginnings  in  the  Illinois  prairie  land 
shortly  after  the  Civil  War,  and  on  to  Wisconsin, 
and  then  south  into  Oklahoma,  where  the  father 
died  the  year  after  oil  bubbled  up  on  the  home- 
stead and  the  sons  set  off  variously,  one  for  a  posi- 
tion in  a  Chicago  bank,  one  for  the  University  and 
by  way  of  the  Department  of  Economics  and  fac- 
tory legislation  into  Socialism  and  on  and  on,  and 
on,  and — 

No!  I  will  not  go  to  sleep!  The  banking  son 
was  now  with  the  Red  Cross  in  France,  his  son 
in  turn  was  in  aviation,  and  Douglas  here  was  out- 
lining the  reconstruction  of  society,  with  his 


274        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

mother  to  look  after  his  meals — he  had  been  a  deli- 
cate child  and  food  had  to  be  forced  upon  him,  and 
the  young  generation  went  in  for  abominable  for- 
eign dishes,  and  young  revolutionists  rejected  meat 
and  corn-bread  along  with  the  capitalist  system — 
all  this  routine  Mrs.  Grimsby's  fingers  had  gone 
through,  first  hewing  and  washing  and  baking  and 
cleaning  and  knitting;  then  baking  only  and  knit- 
ting, and  now  knitting  only, — but  still  socks. 

What  ought  one  to  say  to  Mrs.  Grimsby  in  sheer 
politeness  ?  Latimer  did  not  recall  ever  having  seen 
any  socks  protruding  from  those  enormous  knitting 
bags  in  the  Subway,  though  not  only  the  sock  itself, 
but  the  leg  for  which  it  was  intended,  and  perhaps 
the  soldierly  owner  of  the  leg,  if  it  was  not  an  over- 
sized trooper,  might  conceivably  be  concealed  in 
those  mammoth  bags  with  which  devoted  women 
plunged  into  the  Black  Hole  of  the  Subway  ex- 
presses during  rush  hours,  thus  affirming  the 
ancient  privilege  of  woman  to  lend  a  touch  of  the 
grotesque  and  the  artificial  to  a  motive  essentially 
noble.  No,  what  was  being  knitted  in  the  public 
conveyances  in  New  York  was  exclusively  mufflers 
and  sweaters,  as  if  the  Great  War  was  being  fought 
only  from  the  waist  up;  whereas  a  heavy  pair  of 
gray  socks,  to  a  man  in  the  slime  of  the  trenches, 


An  Interview  275 

the  frozen  mud  about  the  ankles,  oozing  in  between 
sock  and  shoe,  seeping  right  through  the  wool,  bit- 
ing at  the  bone — 

He  shivered  and  woke  with  a  start  to  the  heat 
of  the  sun  and  the  tingle  of  a  left  leg  gone  entirely 
to  sleep. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said  and  sat  up  very  straight 
and  blushed,  for  Manning  and  Margaret  had  come 
out  of  the  house  and  were  watching  him. 

Mrs.  Grimsby  gave  him  a  friendly  nod.  Latimer 
got  up  as  gracefully  as  his  numbed  legs  would 
permit. 

"  It  has  been  a  pleasure,"  he  said.  They  shook 
hands  in  perfect  understanding. 

"  Only  the  other  day,"  said  Latimer  as  the  three 
strolled  homewards,  "  an  experience  like  this  with 
Dawson  would  have  left  me  in  collapse.  But  now 
I  feel  fine.  That  shows  how  well  I  am." 

"  Yes  ? "  said  Manning,  who  had  not  been 
listening.  "  Then  you  think  it's  good  for  democ- 
racy when  every  animal  in  the  zoo  howls  for  his 
own  belly?  " 

Latimer  gaped  at  him. 

"  When  you  started  off  on  your  little  junket  last 
time,"  said  Manning.  "  The  Melting  Pot,  you  will 


276         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

remember.  We  are  a  menagerie.  We  are  not 
like-minded,  as  one  of  the  college  professors  points 
out,  and  the  strength  of  a  nation  is  in  its  like- 
mindedness.  So  where  do  we  get  off?  If  we  need 
a  war  and  a  couple  of  million  casualties  to  weld  us 
into  a  nation,  that  ancient  mixing  kettle  might  as 
well  go  into  discard.  It  isn't  the  little  red  school- 
house  that  will  make  us  a  united  people.  Mr. 
Hindenburg  will  do  it  for  us." 

"  Is  this  a  short-cut  to  your  place  ?  "  said  Lati- 
mer,  who  was  too  happy  for  debate. 

"  It  is,"  said  the  hungering  newspaper  soul. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
IN  ARCADY 

HAVING  telegraphed  his  wife  and  Harriet  con- 
cerning his  change  of  plan,  together  with  assurance 
of  his  complete  well-being,  Latimer  gave  himself 
passionately  to  the  poultry  business. 

The  convalescence  of  soul  which  set  in  at  Fair- 
view,  made  notable  progress  under  a  Spartan  rou- 
tine adopted  in  spite  of  Manning's  protests.  He 
rose  early, — that  involved  no  particular  merit,  he  re- 
minded his  host,  when  you  have  your  sixtieth  birth- 
day behind  you — and  made  the  rounds,  with  his 
host,  of  the  chicken  houses  and  the  runs.  There 
were  mornings,  in  fact,  when  he  left  Manning  in 
bed,  and  put  himself  under  orders  to  the  hired  man. 
Whether  the  gain  from  Latimer 's  labor  made  up 
for  the  loss  of  the  hired  man's  efficiency,  arising 
from  the  latter's  extreme  embarrassment  in  the 
presence  of  this  unexplainable  amateur,  is  a  sta- 
tistical problem  which  we  may  as  well  leave  un- 
touched. 

Manning  had  objected  at  first  to  his  visitor's 

277 


278         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

going  in  for  the  humbler  duties  connected  with  fowl 
culture.  But  Latimer  insisted,  and  with  complete 
sincerity,  that  it  was  precisely  from  such  contact 
with  the  primitive  materials  and  phenomena  of  the 
hen-yard  that  he  drew  cheer  and  the  most  glorious 
physical  stimulus. 

"  I  am  an  enlisted  man,  my  dear  fellow.  Away 
with  your  commissioned  etiquette.  No  swank  for 
me.  I  shall  learn  the  business  from  the  ground 
up." 

Only  two  privileges  he  claimed  outside  the  ordi- 
nary routine  of  the  hired  agricultural  laborer:  a 
bath  in  the  creek  before  the  noon-day  meal  and  a 
nap  after.  That  was  more  than  habit  or  recreation. 
It  helped  to  keep  him  fit  for  another  set  of  duties 
which  he  recognized  he  owed  Manning,  namely  the 
companionship  of  his  spirit  for  which  the  other 
longed  so  ardently  in  his  own  pilgrimage.  Yet 
Latimer  gave  him  of  this  higher  service  in  modera- 
tion, and  partly  out  of  selfish  motives.  He  would 
not  sacrifice  his  new  won  freedom  even  for  Man- 
ning. He  would  not  abandon  the  sweat  and  rest 
and  sunshine  of  the  poultry-yards  to  plunge  again 
into  the  jungle  of  a  moral  world  from  which  he 
had  escaped.  It  came  hard  at  first  to  be  sure.  The 
veteran  newspaper  man  had  not  lost  the  profes- 


In  Arcady  279 

sional  gift  for  eliciting  words  from  mouths  des- 
perately determined  not  to  be  interviewed.  Lati- 
mer  was  all  the  time  walking  into  man-traps  and 
pitfalls  and  cul-de-sacs,  and  before  he  knew  it  he 
would  be  knee-deep  in  controversy.  What,  for  in- 
stance, more  innocent  than  Manning's  offer  one  day 
to  join  him  for  a  swim  in  the  creek? 

They  gasped  with  the  first  touch  of  the  chill 
current.  Latimer  was  not  a  swimmer  and  regu- 
larly practised  immersion  where  he  stood.  But 
Manning  breasted  the  tide  with  a  splendid  abandon 
born  of  the  fact  that  it  was  just  three  strokes 
across  to  the  opposite  bank.  Four  times  he  tra- 
versed that  mighty  stream  and  came  back  to  where 
Latimer  was  gingerly  treading  the  sharp-pebbled 
bottom  and  whirling  his  arms,  in  the  manner  of 
Isadora  Duncan. 

"  When  I  speak  of  the  breakdown  of  the  Melt- 
ting  Pot,"  said  Manning,  as  he  floated  on  his  back 
and  gave  his  face  to  the  delicious  warmth  of  the 
sun,  "  I  am  not  thinking  only  of  the  Hunkers  and 
the  Pollocks  and  the  Wops  who  have  been  paying 
dividends  for  the  Hamburg-American  Line.  What 
about  our  good,  old,  native  stock?  I  put  in  three 
years  at  Washington  for  the  Star.  And  did  I  find 
in  Congress  any  visible  symptoms  of  that  national 


280        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

like-mindedness  my  friend  the  professor  is  pleading 
for?    Nay,  Pauline." 

"  I've  had  enough,"  said  Latimer,  crawling  cir- 
cumspectly to  the  shore  and  into  the  embrace  of  a 
heavy  towel.  "  What  was  wrong  with  our  Con- 
gressmen ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  except  the  heart  and  the  head,' 
said  Manning,  luxuriously  closing  his  eyes  in  the 
sun.  "  Nothing  except  that  it  was  each  hick  Rep- 
resentative for  his  own  yap  district,  and  each  State 
for  itself,  and  bargain  and  hugger-mugger.  The 
gentlemen  from  Indiana  scratched  the  gentlemen 
from  Maine,  and  the  gentlemen  from  Maine 
scratched  the  gentlemen  from  Indiana,  and  thus 
we  were  a  nation." 

"  Log-rolling,"  said  Latimer,  rubbing  away 
thoughtfully. 

"  Yes.  A  Congressman  head  foremost  into  the 
pork-barrel  when  he  is  not  busy  scrambling  for 
votes,  is  not  a  pleasant  sight,  you'll  agree." 

"  I  don't  at  all  agree,"  said  Latimer,  "  but  I  like 
your  honest  and  intelligent  way  of  approaching  a 
subject." 

Manning  stood  up  in  the  water  and  grunted. 

"  Thank  you,  Latimer.  I  am  honest  and  I  am 
intelligent,  but  every  time  I  open  my  mouth  I 


In  Arcady  281 

drivel."    He  climbed  ashore  and  began  to  dry  him- 
self mournfully. 

"Not  drivel,  my  dear  fellow;  but  a  certain  lack 
of  proportion  you  will  admit.  You  have  been  too 
close  to  the  facts  to  catch  the  inner  meaning." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  said  Manning,  pensive 
with  a  towel  over  his  arm  like  the  Apollo  Belvi- 
dere. 

"  Now  what  is  there  essentially  wrong  about  a 
vote-hunting  Congressman  ? "  demanded  Latimer. 
"  The  business  of  keeping  one's  ear  to  the  ground 
is  not  an  aesthetic  occupation,  but  it  is  useful,  and 
the  results  are  plainly  what  is  aimed  at  in  your 
democratic  constitutions.  A  gas  meter  is  not  the 
noblest  work  of  God,  but  it  serves  a  very  distinct 
purpose;  and  the  more  sensitive  it  is  to  pressure, 
the  better  it  does  its  work.  Have  you  ever  thought 
of  the  ballot-box  as  your  Melting  Pot  ?  " 

"  You  mean  as  a  similar  bit  of  junk?  "  said  Man- 
ning, with  malice. 

"  As  a  cauldron,"  said  Latimer.  "  Long  before 
the  blood  of  Hunker  or  Wop  has  begun  to  filter 
into  the  nation's  veins,  the  Italian  and  Hungarian 
vote  has  become  the  pressure  gauge  of  our  political 
life  responding  to  a  new  force.  And  when  your 
Congressmen,  elected  by  these  "  votes,"  get  together 


282        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

and  roll  logs  and  put  through  bills  that  represent 
a  compromise  of  a  dozen  selfishnesses,  you  get 
something  that  is  not  quite  as  symmetrical,  per- 
haps, as  Plato  would  have  made  it,  but  it  is  that 
hodge-podge  thing  called  life." 

"  That's  downright  immoral,  my  friend,"  said 
Manning,  pulling  at  his  sock  viciously. 

"  It  is  only  commonplace  and  wisdom,"  retorted 
Latimer,  and  stepped  on  a  sharp  stone.  But  when 
he  had  recovered: 

"  Where  in  history  do  you  find  a  perfectly  at- 
tuned nation?  You  recall  what  Gladstone  said 
about  our  Constitution?  The  most  perfect  instru- 
ment ever  struck  off  at  white  heat  from  the  mind 
of  man,  or  something  of  the  sort.  But  what  do 
your  new  historians  say  about  the  Constitution?  A 
bundle  of  compromises  in  which  one  side  got  the 
best  of  the  other,  a  compromise  in  which  the  land- 
owners and  money-changers  and  slave  drivers  put 
it  over,  to  use  one  of  your  favorite  phrases,  Man- 
ning, on  the  sturdy,  simple-hearted  American  yeo- 
man. Once  upon  a  time  I  was  taught  that  the 
French  Revolution  was  an  inspired  vision.  Now 
it  would  appear  that  the  Revolution  was  a  bundle 
of  makeshifts  and  accidents  forced  upon  the  amateur 
statesmen  of  France  by  a  European  coalition.  You 


In  Arcady  283 

are  perhaps  under  the  impression  that  Luther  spoke 
for  the  unconscious  soul  of  the  German  people  ?  " 

"Well,  didn't  he?" 

"  The  new  histories  say  that  Luther  was  playing 
the  game  of  a  couple  of  thousand  princes  and  gentry 
who  were  hungry  for  church  lands." 

"  Look  here,"  Manning  showed  real  concern, 
"  we'd  better  hurry  up  and  find  the  answer  right 
away,  or  some  fellow  from  the  Rockefeller  Insti- 
tute will  pull  a  new  historical  theory  on  us  and 
we'll  have  to  start  all  over  again." 

"  I  only  ask  you,"  said  Latimer,  "  to  imagine 
what  must  have  been  the  log-rolling  at  Nicaea  in 
the  year  325  A.D.,  where  corner  bargains  and 
steam-rollers  put  through  the  formulas  for  which 
millions  gave  their  lives  and  to  which  millions  gave 
their  faith,  through  the  centuries.  Not  to  speak  of 
the  greatest  log-rolling  arrangement  of  all,  upon 
which  society  has  been  built  for  the  last  several 
thousand  years." 

"  Namely,  to  wit  ? "  said  Manning.  He  had 
climbed  into  his  clothes  and  was  now  sitting  on 
the  ground  busy  with  his  shoelaces. 

"  Marriage,  of  course;  which  the  poets  and  the 
creeds  describe  as  a  perfect  and  instantaneous  fu- 
sion, but  which  the  sober  wisdom  of  the  ages  re- 


284        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

gards  as  a  log-rolling  compact  between  the  member 
from  Adamsville  and  the  member  from  Evesham. 
But  why  argue  ?  I  look  forward  with  confidence  to 
an  indeterminate  future  in  which  man,  on  his  little 
earth,  will  go  log-rolling  through  space." 

For  as  much  as  a  minute  Manning  sat  there  with 
his  left  shoe  in  his  hand  thinking  it  over.  Then 
he  shook  his  head,  plunked  the  shoe  down  beside 
him,  and  returned  to  the  charge. 

"  I  don't  see  it.  I  don't  want  to  see  it.  I  refuse 
to  think  of  America  as  the  dead  centre  between 
Maine  and  California  and  Georgia  pulling  each  for 
itself  and  our  old  friend  take  the  hindmost.  There 
must  be  something  more  than  mechanics  in  it. 
There  is  a  soul  somewhere  that  is  bigger  than  those 
damnable  local  interests.  Think  of  California 
going  off  on  a  Japanese  bat  every  three  years  and 
giving  us  all  nervous  prostration.  Think  of 
Georgia  burning  a  dozen  men  at  the  stake  every 
other  year  and  making  America  a  stink  in  the  nos- 
trils of  the  world.  Does  California  ever  stop  to 
think  of  the  other  forty-seven  States.  Does 
Georgia  ?  " 

"  But  my  dear  fellow,"  shouted  Latimer.  "  You 
have  gone  and  eaten  up  your  own  argument." 

"  I  am  not  arguing.     I  take  my  exercise  some 


In  Arcady  285 

other  way,"  said  Manning  gloomily.  "  What  I  am 
trying  to  get  at  is  the  truth." 

Latimer  crowed  in  triumph. 

"  You  have  confessed  that  it  isn't  always  log- 
rolling among  us.  That  Maine  will  frequently  cry 
out  upon  California  for  her  Yellow  Peril  and  upon 
Georgia  for  her  negro  massacres." 

"  Sure,"  said  Manning.  "  And  Georgia  and 
California  will  turn  around  and  invite  Maine  to  go 
home  and  attend  to  her  own  bootleggers  and  blind- 
tigers.  It's  a  sweet  arrangement  by  which  we  stand 
up  as  each  other's  keeper." 

"  Which  is  quite  as  it  should  be,"  cried  Latimer. 
"  It  is  right  and  necessary  that  Georgia  and  Cali- 
fornia and  Maine  should  call  each  other  to  order. 
Just  as  it  is  right  that  America  should  denounce 
Jew-baiting  in  Russia  and  that  Russia  should  de- 
nounce Law  and  Order  assassination  in  Arizona 
copper  mines.  Mind  you,  Manning,  I  am  not  say- 
ing that  the  Russian  pogroms  are  an  answer  to 
Arizona  pogroms.  But  it  is  nonsense  to  say,  as  you 
hear  people  say  all  the  time,  that  Maine  must  not 
speak  out  against  murder  because  she  drinks 
liquor  on  the  sly,  and  Georgia  must  not  call  Cali- 
fornia to  her  senses  because  Georgia  has  her  own 
negro  weaknesses.  By  pointing  the  ringer  of  scorn 


286        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

at  each  other  we  have  climbed  up  from  the  brute 
state.  Our  human  history,  you'll  recall,  began  with 
the  appearance  of  a  sense  of  shame;  in  Eden.  If 
we  all  waited  to  examine  the  cleanliness  of  our 
hearts  before  criticising  our  neighbors,  where 
would  we  be?  " 

"  But,  Latimer,  there  is  something  about  being 
without  sin  before  casting  stones." 

"  Suppose  there  is." 

"  And  something  about  the  beam  in  your  own 
eye.  Pretty  good  authority,  you  know." 

"  I  regard  that  doctrine  as  humanly  unsound," 
said  Latimer  gravely. 

"  What !  "  The  inherent,  if  submerged  piety,  of 
all  veteran  newspapermen  was  plainly  shocked. 

"  I  pay  tribute  to  the  Man  in  the  divine  Author 
of  the  maxims  you  have  cited,"  said  Latimer,  "  by 
pointing  out  that  he  was  occasionally  subject  to 
error." 

As  the  days  passed,  Latimer  grew  more  wary. 
Manning  had  to  be  content  with  snatches  of  talk 
during  business  hours,  at  meals,  only  occasionally 
at  dish-washing. 

This  task  had  been  alleviated  by  a  notable  in- 
crease in  Margaret's  staff  of  assistants.  Winifred 


In  Arcady  287 

came  in  for  supper  every  other  day.  Polly  and 
Dawson  dropped  in  after  supper  to  help  out.  The 
casualties  among  the  chinaware  rose  surprisingly 
little,  all  things  considered.  Dawson  especially  re- 
vealed himself  a  master  with  the  towel,  and  Lati- 
mer  was  soon  forced  to  a  very  radical  revision  in 
his  attitude  to  the  effeminate  young  anarch.  Daw- 
son  had  constructive  genius,  of  that  there  was  no 
doubt.  His  labor-saving  innovations  in  the  handling 
of  wet  dishes  were  nothing  short  of  marvelous. 

After  supper  they  sat  on  the  porch  and  talked, 
the  young  people  grouped  on  the  steps,  the  seniors 
in  rocking  chairs.  This  was  when  Manning  got 
his  heaviest  profit  out  of  his  new  hired  man.  It 
was,  as  a  rule,  quiet  talk;  Latimer  had  learned  how 
to  take  care  of  himself.  At  the  first  sign  of  a  ris- 
ing temperature,  he  fled  to  trivialities  or  to  imper- 
sonal comment.  Thus,  one  night  when  the  girls' 
laughter  testified  repeatedly  to  Dawson's  being  in 
good  form: 

"I  have  done  this  young  man  a  great  injustice; 
he  has  intelligence  and  humor;  his  pose  I  assume 
is  part  of  the  radical  journalist's  trade  mark. 
Frivolous  he  is  not." 

"Frivolous?"  said  Manning.  "There  is  stuff 
in  the  young  man.  There  are  enough  ideas  bob- 


288        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

bing  up  behind  that  Futurist  mustache  right  now 
to  keep  a  college  president  running  at  top  speed  for 
a  whole  semester.  He  is  always  hanging  round  for 
an  opportunity  to  engage  your  humble  servant  in 
intellectual  conversation.  When  I  am  not  around, 
Margaret  will  do.  He  knows  every  article  in  the 
kitchen  by  its  first  name." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Latimer. 

Nine  o'clock  he  would  go  to  bed.  Sleep  came 
with  wings  of  down  to  the  accompaniment  of 
pleasant  sounds  from  the  porch,  Dawson's  dipt 
singsong,  Manning's  heavier  boom,  Winifred  and 
Margaret  laughing  at  Dawson,  at  Manning,  at 
Polly,  everything,  nothing — 

One  morning  Manning  found  him  motionless  on 
an  empty  crate  in  the  principal  chicken  gallery,  his 
arms  folded,  the  smile  of  perfect  peace  on  his  lips, 
his  eyes  dreamily  fixed  on  Manning's  champion 
Plymouth  Rock  enthroned  on  her  nest.  For  the 
space  of  five  minutes  JV'anning  watched  him  from 
outside  the  shed,  his  heart  leaping  to  the  wild  hope 
that  at  last  the  old  intellectual  appetites  were  stir- 
ing  in  the  breast  of  this  day-laborer.  Latimer  heard 
him  move  and  turned  on  him  that  smile  of  measure- 
less beatitude. 

"  Tell  me  the  worst,"  said  Manning. 


In  Arcady  289 

"  I  have  sat  here  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  and 
my  mind  has  been  the  perfect  blank  which  is  the 
sign  of  supreme  well-being,"  said  Latimer.  "  I 
have  escaped,  Manning.  I  can  look  without  think- 
ing. Do  you  understand  what  that  means?  Only 
a  few  days  ago  I  should  have  found  it  impossible 
to  confront  the  humblest  of  God's  creatures  with- 
out subjecting  her  to  the  torture  of  my  own 
analysis.  To-day  I  can  look  a  hen  in  the  face  with- 
out imputing  to  her  motives,  meaning,  or  ultimate 
purpose.  It's  like  looking  at  the  sea.  For  most  of 
us  sickly  intellectuals  it  has  become  a  duty  not  to 
look  out  across  the  breakers  without  registering 
ideas,  emotions.  But  I  remember  a  classmate  of 
mine — you  know  how  long  ago  that  was — Johnson, 
of  Viking  blood.  He  would  lie  on  his  back  on  the 
sands  between  breakfast  and  luncheon  and  look  at 
the  sea,  when  he  was  not  watching  the  clouds.  I 
would  ask  Johnson  what  was  it  he  saw  out  there  in 
the  course  of  a  morning's  observation,  and  he  would 
say,  the  color  of  the  water  and  the  sky.  I  under- 
stand it  now.  For  the  last  fifteen  minutes  the  hen 
and  I  have  been  in  perfect  spiritual  communion." 

"  I  shall  have  to  charge  sanitarium  prices,"  said 
Manning. 

"  But  I  do  my  work  pretty  well,  don't  I  ?  " 


290        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  At  chopping  green  feed  I  have  yet  to  see  your 
equal,  Latimer." 

"  And  not  once  in  the  last  three  days,  Manning, 
have  I  thought  of  myself  as  Count  Tolstoy.  My 
conversion  ought  to  make  what  I  have  heard  you 
newspapermen  call  a  human  interest  story." 

"How?" 

"  Well,  what  has  been  going  on  in  my  soul." 

"  But  what  makes  you  think  that  a  human  inter- 
est story  has  anything  to  do  with  the  soul,  Lati- 
mer?" 

"  By  definition.  What  else  is  a  human  interest 
story  in  the  papers?" 

"  It's  a  story  about  a  chicken  with  three  legs  and 
a  couple  of  heads,"  said  Manning;  "  or  about  a  dog 
that  plays  mother  to  a  litter  of  kittens;  or  about  an 
automobile  that  skids,  climbs  trees,  and  comes  down 
on  the  other  side  intact  and  full  of  red  apples.  But 
under  no  circumstances,  Latimer,  is  there  anything 
human  in  a  human  interest  story.  Remember  that 
when  you  are  next  in  the  company  of  newspaper- 
men, lest  they  turn  upon  you  with  ribald  laughter. 
But  what  I  was  going  to  say  was  this:  If  it  is 
right  that  every  nation  should  point  the  finger  of 
scorn  at  every  other  nation,  as  you  claim — " 

"When  did  I  say  that?" 


In  Arcady  291 

"  Last  Friday,  out  there  at  the  swimming  hole. 
Of  course  three  days  have  elapsed  and  it  may  no 
longer  be  true." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Latimer.  "  If  I  said  it— and  I 
take  your  word  for  it — I'll  stick  to  it." 

"  Well,  then,  in  that  case,  is  a  man  to  take  every- 
thing that  is  said  about  his  country,  by  the  frank 
and  intelligent  foreigner,  lying  down?  I  have  had 
candid  German  friends — before  the  war — sit  down 
and  prove  to  me  in  sixteen  paragraphs  and  forty- 
six  sub-sections,  that  our  boasted  American  democ- 
racy and  liberty  are  about  on  a  plane  with  the  civili- 
zation of  Senegambia,  but  not  quite  up  to  the  level 
of  Kamchatka.  And  I  can't  answer  them  on  points 
because  the  intelligent  foreigner  always  carries 
about  his  person  an  average  of  twenty  pounds  of 
government  statistics." 

"  There  are  no  intelligent  foreigners,  Manning, 
so  I  shouldn't  worry,"  said  Latimer.  "  There  are 
people,  as  you  said,  with  newspaper  clippings  all 
over  their  clothes;  so  they  think  they  know  all 
about  America.  But  we  know  a  trick  that  is  better 
than  their  whole  bag  of  statistical  effluvia.  We  have 
faith—" 

"  Henry,"  said  a  woman's  voice  from  outside 
the  shed.  He  looked  up  and  saw  Harriet,  in  a  blue 


292        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

turban  with  white  gloves  and  parasol.  Behind  her, 
in  the  middle  distance,  stood  Nicholas  Runkle,  in 
the  conventional  heavy  worsted,  and  on  his  face  a 
bitter  little  smile  which  to  Latimer  said  plainly  that 
Runkle  did  not  believe  the  Plymouth  Rock  on  her 
nest  was  genuine. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
DOMESTIC 

THIS  was  the  first  thought.  The  next  came  with 
a  sudden  wrench  of  unreasoning,  agonizing  panic 
and  remorse.  He  ran  to  meet  his  sister. 

"Mary?    She  is  well?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Harriet,  and  bent  forward  to 
kiss  him  decisively  on  the  cheek.  "  I  hear  from 
her  every  other  day." 

"  I  am  under  orders  not  to  write,  you  know." 
He  was  still  penitent. 

"  You've  done  well,  Henry.  Still,  I  thought 
Mary  would  like  to  know.  This,  I  suppose,  is  Mr. 
Manning.  My  only  train  back  is  at  2.30." 

"  They've  been  taking  trains  off,"  said  Runkle. 
His  voice  reeked  with  ominous  implications.  It  was 
less  a  statement  of  fact  than  the  revelation  of  a 
conspiracy.  Trains  were  disappearing  from  the 
O.  and  W.  schedule.  Whether  it  was  pro-Germans, 
or  Carranza,  or  Wall  Street,  Runkle  left  it  to  your 
own  intelligence. 

"  I  suppose  the  coal  has  to  be  saved  some- 
293 


294        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

how,"  said  Harriet.  "  Please  put  down  the  box, 
Nicholas."  She  indicated  a  large  parcel  which 
Runkle  had  under  his  arm. 

Nicholas  set  down  the  box  and  smiled  knowingly 
in  the  direction  of  the  pump.  "They've  got  half 
a  million  tons  of  coal  hid  away  up-State,"  he  re- 
marked to  the  pump. 

Latimer  glared  at  him,  straightened  up,  and 
laughed. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Nicholas,  do  you  know  how  big 
a  pile  half  a  million  tons  of  coal  would  make? 
You  can't  hide  that  in  the  cellar,  you  know." 

"  They've  done  worse  things,"  said  Runkle. 

"  I  don't  see  that  this  gets  us  anywhere,"  said 
Harriet.  "  Since  I  am  supposed  to  stay  over  for 
lunch  I  imagine  we  might  be  going  around  to  the 
house." 

Manning  hastened  to  apologize  for  lax  hospi- 
tality and  led  the  way.  Margaret  was  away  in  the 
Ford,  on  her  regular  delivery  route,  with  a  crate 
of  eggs  and  Dawson.  The  meal  was  served  by 
Polly  who  came  under  the  scrutiny  of  Harriet's 
expert  eye  and  received  a  decent  passing  mark.  As 
soon  as  might  be,  Manning  made  occasion  to  leave 
brother  and  sister  to  themselves.  Runkle  was  de- 
tailed to  assist  Polly  in  the  kitchen. 


Domestic  295 

But  when  he  was  alone  with  Harriet  on  the 
porch,  our  hero  caught  the  first  ache  of  longing  for 
home  and  kin  since  he  had  left  Fairview.  A  wave 
of  tenderness  swept  him  close  to  this  strong,  capable 
sister,  whom,  normally,  he  would  visit  at  three-year 
intervals.  He  wanted  to  believe  it  was  not  merely 
at  his  wife's  request  that  Harriet  had  taken  a  day 
off  from  the  business  of  running  the  Methodist 
church  and  the  Red  Cross  in  Williamsport  and  its 
environs.  He  liked  to  think  it  had  been  no  sacri- 
fice for  Harriet. 

"  You  are  looking  very  well,  indeed,"  she  told 
him.  "  You  smoke  very  little,  I  see,  and  you  don't 
fidget." 

"  I  am  twenty  years  younger,  Harriet,  and  I  am 
glad  of  life  every  minute  of  the  day.  For  Mary's 
sake  I  rejoice.  I  have  given  up  carrying  the  burden 
of  the  world  on  my  shoulders.  I  have  learned  to 
throw  myself  a  bit  upon  the  world  in  turn.  I  sleep 
extremely  well.  I  still  lose  my  temper  on  occasion, 
but  it  passes  easily,  and  with  no  after  effects.  In 
all  honesty  I  can  say  my  disposition  is  very  much 
better.  It  is  a  week  since  I  have  quarreled  with 
anybody." 

"And  the  war?" 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  it.     Perhaps  it  is   still 


296        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

with  me  more  than  is  quite  good  for  me,  but  then 
there  are  no  miraculous  cures.  I  think,  perhaps, 
I  understand  the  war  better,  and  what  I  don't,  I 
am  willing  to  take  on  trust.  As  I  see  it  now  the 
trouble  with  me  in  town  was  that  I  looked  at  the 
world  through  an  opera-glass,  as  if  I  were  the  only 
spectator,  for  whom  the  whole  show  was  set.  The 
eye-strain  gave  me  a  headache.  I  have  learned  to 
look  at  smaller  and  nearer  things  and  with  a  nar- 
rower vision,  and  it's  been  good  for  me." 

"  That's  something  to  be  thankful  for,"  she  said. 
"'  Mary  sent  up  a  parcel  for  you  and  I  have  brought 
the  things  down.  You  have  not  been  running  short 
of  underwear  ?  " 

He  reflected. 

"  No.  I  believe  I  am  well  provided  for.  If  any- 
thing, I  have  been  extravagant.  I  made  purchases 
at  Fairview  and  again  at  Greensborough ;  and  that 
reminds  me  that  there  should  be  a  bundle  of  laundry 
waiting  for  me  at  the  hotel  in  Fairview." 

"  You  will  give  me  the  receipt  and  address  be- 
fore I  go  and  I'll  have  them  send  it  by  parcel 
post." 

"  That's  kind  of  you,  Harriet." 

"  It  was  careless  of  you,  Henry ;  though  Mary 
warned  me  that  something  of  the  sort  was 


Domestic  297 

bound  to  happen.  The  things  she  sent  are  middle- 
heavies." 

"  I  wear  them  all  the  year  round." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  used  to  that,  so  much  the  bet- 
ter; though  at  your  age  I  think  people  should 
change  sometime  around  Thanksgiving." 

"  The  problem  has  been  with  socks  rather,"  he 
said.  "  It  began  right  at  Williamsport  Anything 
but  silk  or  lisle  is  very  difficult  to  find  in  these  rural 
neighborhoods.  But  I  have  managed.  What  I  do 
need,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  is  a  pair  of  bed-room 
slippers.  If  I  so  much  as  put  my  toes  to  the  floor, 
on  the  warmest  night,  I  catch  cold." 

"  You  used  to  do  that  fifty  years  ago,"  she 
laughed.  "  I  remember  Mother  saying,  *  Henry's 
sneezing  again.'  You  always  left  your  slippers  in 
the  clothes  closet  and  hunted  for  them  in  the  morn- 
ning  barefoot." 

"  Harriet,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  and  putting 
his  hand  on  the  back  of  hers,  "  are  you  going  to 
stay  forever  at  Williamsport  ?  Why  don't  you  come 
down  to  the  city  to  live?  You  know  how  pleased 
Mary  would  be." 

"  Nonsense,"  she  said,  but  did  not  withdraw  her 
hand.  "  I  have  lived  in  the  old  house  as  long  as  I 
can  remember,  and  when  I  can  no  longer  take  care 


298        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

of  myself,  Nicholas  and  Selma  will  look  after  me. 
The  food  here  is  good  ?  " 

"  Excellent.  Manning,  you  know,  is  only  lately 
from  the  city.  For  breakfast  I  take  an  egg,  coffee, 
bread,  and  jam,  and  sometimes  a  dish  of  cereal." 

"  Uncooked,  of  course,"  she  sneered. 

"  Yes.  Wheat  Crumbs.  Our  heavy  meal  is  at 
mid-day.  Sometimes  I  over-indulge  in  pie,  but  I 
always  have  a  nap  afterwards.  Supper  is  cold 
meat,  or  eggs,  or  most  often  cheese  and  tea;  and 
only  one  cigarette." 

"  It  might  be  a  good  deal  worse,"  said  Harriet. 
"  And  before  you  go  to  bed  you  should  rinse  your 
mouth  and  throat  with  bicarbonate  of  soda." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  omitted  that." 

"  There's  half  a  pound  of  it  in  the  box,"  she  said, 
getting  to  her  feet.  "  I  will  let  Mary  know.  How 
long  do  you  plan  to  stay?" 

"  Not  more  than  a  week.  Now  that  I  have  seen 
you  I  am  homesick.  But  I  will  take  you  in  on  my 
way  back." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  have  you,  Henry."  She 
kissed  him  with  her  natural  bright  efficiency  and 
turning  into  the  house  called  for  Nicholas.  There 
was  no  response. 

"  He  would  still  be  in  the  kitchen,"  said  Latimer, 


Domestic  299 

and  showed  the  way  through  the  dining-room.  A 
second  time  Harriet  summoned  her  esquire  without 
result.  They  peered  in  through  the  kitchen  door. 

Nicholas  was  on  the  edge  of  his  chair,  an  idle 
towel  beteen  his  knees — the  dishes  were  dried  and 
stacked  up  on  the  table — listening  wide-eyed,  open- 
mouthed,  with  all  the  repressed  faith  of  a  lifetime 
breaking  through  the  thick  crust  of  suspicion,  to 
Polly  who  was  sweeping  up. 

"  That  is  the  comfort  of  it,  Mr.  Runkle,"  she  was 
saying.  "  That  one  feels  one  is  something  more 
than  a  bit  of  driftwood  tossed  around  by  chance; 
that  there  is  a  reason  for  one's  being  what  you  are, 
and  where  you  are.  It  is  progression,  from  circle 
to  circle,  in  a  great  eternal  spiral,  right  from  the 
beginning  of  things.  There  is  a  reason  for  every- 
thing, Mr.  Runkle." 

"  Ay,"  said  Nicholas.    "  I  always  believed  that." 

"  Else  how  are  you  going  to  explain  so  many 
things  that  one  can't  explain  ?  "  said  Polly.  "  Like 
dreams.  Or  when  you  feel  certain  that  you  have 
experienced  something  before,  far  back,  long  be- 
fore one  came  to  earth.  Now  that  is  only  the  mem- 
ory of  existence  in  an  earlier  plane.  It's  a  com- 
fort to  feel  the  splendid  justice  of  things.  Every- 
thing which  befalls  you  is  what  you  have  earned 


300        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

in  the  past.  I  don't  know  how  you  feel  about  it, 
Mr.  Runkle,  but  it  seems  to  me  one  can  never  be 
unhappy  if  you  know  it  is  all  justice,  and  there  is 
always  another  chance  in  the  endless  winding  of 
the  spiral." 

"  I  have  a  book  about  it  up  at  home,"  said 
Nicholas.  "  It's  from  the  ancient  Sanskript.  It 
shows  how  they  have  gone  ahead  and  printed 
fraudulent  translations  from  the  ancient  Sanskript 
and  pretended  it  was  a  true  translation.  And  they 
made  it  from  a  forged  copy.  The  real  secret  is  hid 
away  in  a  monastery  up  in  the  Himalaysian  moun- 
tains where  the  priests  teach  it — " 

"  Nicholas,"  said  Harriet. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  MOTHER 

TWINGES  and  shooting-pains  of  homesickness,  re- 
curring with  intensified  frequency  during  the  next 
few  days,  gave  Latimer  warning  that  the  end  of 
his  holiday  was  in  sight.  His  zest  for  the  routine 
of  the  barnyard  diminished.  Doubts  whether  he 
was,  after  all,  earning  his  keep  with  the  Mannings 
beset  him.  Why  pretend  that  it  was  anything  but 
make-believe?  Down  there  was  a  great,  booming 
city  where  five  million  people,  more  or  less,  went 
to  work  in  the  morning  and  came  home  tired  at 
night,  and  read  their  vivid  throbbing  newspapers 
going  and  coming;  and  here  was  a  strong  man 
denying  the  world  in  a  lotus  garden.  He  began  to 
feel  parasitic.  Winifred  and  Polly  had  said  good-by 
and  trudged  off  citywards,  with  the  intention  of 
jumping  on  a  train  a  few  days  further  down,  and 
Latimer  felt  more  than  ever  in  a  backwash. 

When  he  told  Manning  that  his  time  had  come, 
it  was  in  a  tone  that  permitted  no  discussion. 

Would  he  come  back  later,  in  the  fall  perhaps, 
301 


302        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

when  they  could  see  more  of  each  other,  mourned 
his  host. 

He  would. 

And  how  about  declaring  to-morrow  a  holiday, 
just  for  the  three,  Latimer,  Manning,  and  Margaret 
— it  would  be  necessary  to  put  Dawson  aside  for 
the  day,  gently  but  firmly — with  luncheon  some- 
where in  the  woods,  and  back  in  time  for  Latimer's 
nap,  and  plenty  of  time  for  his  eight  o'clock  train 
to  New  York? 

An  excellent  idea;  but  this  afternoon  Latimer 
wanted  to  himself,  for  just  one  more  summary  and 
review  of  a  land  which  had  been  so  kind  to  him. 
He  might  return  for  supper  or  he  might  not,  but 
he  would  be  back  surely  for  a  final  night  of  Man- 
ning's hospitality. 

"  Just  one  moment,"  said  Manning,  as  they  shook 
hands  at  the  gate.  "  That  intelligent  and  candid 
foreigner, — " 

"  Which  one  ?  "  Latimer  turned  about  and  saw 
no  one. 

"  Yesterday ;  the  man  who  comes  around  punch- 
ing holes  in  your  national  pride." 

"  Oh !  Well,  don't  let  him  worry  you,  my  dear 
Manning.  I've  had  that  kind  of  pest  fling  his 


The  Mother  303 

damned  newspaper  clippings  at  me;  all  about  the 
number  of  negroes  we  lynch,  and  the  number  of 
people  we  kill  on  the  railways,  and  how  Congress 
has  less  power  than  the  Reichstag,  and  how  we  have 
no  personal  liberty,  and  how  we  send  men  to  death 
by  judicial  procedure." 

"That's  the  fellow,"  cried  Manning.  "What's 
one  to  say?  He  has  the  facts." 

"  Oh,  damn  his  mangy  little  facts,"  shouted 
Latimer.  "  Do  they  add  up  America?  And  if  they 
do,  what  is  he  doing  here?  What  are  a  hundred 
million  people  doing  here?  America  has  less  free- 
dom than  Germany,  but  when  a  Russian  revolu- 
tionist or  a  Chinese  revolutionist  or  a  Hindu  or  a 
Turk  or  Siamese  gets  the  native  police  after  him 
he  does  not  head  for  Berlin  but  for  New  York. 
America  is  the  Moloch  of  capitalism;  she  sends  the 
bodies  of  millions  through  her  mills  and  mines,  but 
it's  from  America  that  hundreds  of  millions  of 
treasure  pour  out  to  keep  alive  the  Poles  and 
Czechs  and  Slovaks,  Bulgarians,  Serbs,  Lithuanians, 
Ukrainians —  But  I  will  not  let  you  disturb  my 
last  holiday  in  the  hills.  Good-by." 

He  took  the  road  as  it  ran  past  the  house,  away 
from  the  highway  and  across  the  creek  towards  the 
hills  through  a  country  new  to  him.  It  carried  him 


304        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

three  miles — which  is  to  say  exactly  an  hour — in  a 
steady  climb,  veered  to  the  north  along  the  moun- 
tain side  and  bent  down  hill  again  towards  the  main 
road.  So  at  least  the  county  map  would  have 
shown;  but  Latimer  was  impervious  to  direction  or 
topography.  He  was  blissfully  occupied  in  think- 
ing of  nothing  whatever.  He  was  not  even  con- 
scious of  how  closely  he  was  repeating  Winifred's 
methods  in  the  open.  He  stopped  to  listen  to  noises 
in  the  trees.  He  peered  over  fences.  He  pried 
into  bushes  and  behind  rocks.  He  stooped  gravely 
to  diagnose  flat  stones  in  the  road  which  had  noth- 
ing to  distinguish  them  from  their  fellows.  His 
way  ran  through  a  thinly  occupied  region,  and  just 
two  farmer's  wagons  in  the  course  of  that  five 
mile  stretch  ventured  to  intrude. 

But  then  who  would  that  be,  sprawling  there 
under  an  ancient  apple  tree  in  the  pasture  a  few 
steps  from  the  road,  one  great  stretch  of  thin  leg  f ul- 
crumed  and  swinging  on  the  knee  cap  of  the  other, 
one  hand  gesticulating  to  the  firmament,  and  a 
voice  declaiming,  alternately,  with  fervor,  with 
snap,  with  irony,  with  gentle  appeal?  Latimer 
stared  and  listened.  That  voice,  those  legs, — 

"  Perkins !  "  he  shouted. 

The  flamboyant  leg  swung  aside  from  its  pivot, 


The  Mother  305 

one  hand  shot  out  and  swept  up  a  sheaf  of  manu- 
script from  the  ground,  and  with  a  whirl  of  pistons, 
rods,  cogs,  and  valves,  which  were  the  limbs  of 
Perkins,  the  dramatist  stood  erect,  gazed,  won- 
dered, and  dashed  forward;  and  on  those  melan- 
choly Danish  features  the  first  flush  of  shame  gave 
way  to  a  glow  of  delighted  recognition. 

"Dr.  Latimer!    I  was  hoping  it  might  happen." 

They  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"  You  were  rehearsing,"  scoffed  Latimer  with 
radiant  affection. 

Perkins  blushed. 

"  We've  got  Villa  down  and  out,  unconditional 
surrender,"  he  said.  "  Day  after  to-morrow  we 
pack  up  for  town.  I've  been  giving  myself  a  vaca- 
tion." 

"  But  not  a  change  of  scene,  I  hope,"  and  Lati- 
mer crowed  with  appreciation  of  his  own  wit. 
"  Then  you  will  walk  a  bit  with  me  ?  I  go  home 
to-morrow." 

Perkins  shoved  the  manuscript  into  his  pocket 
and  fell  into  stride. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  even  read  me  a  page  or  two 
of  the  play  ?  " 

"  Oh,  will  I !  "  said  Perkins. 

Trimmed  from  five  acts  and  fourteen  characters 


306        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

to  three  acts  and  nine  characters,  the  play  yet  took 
an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  reading — needless  to  say 
Latimer  had  it  running  a  year  on  Broadway  before 
putting  it  on  the  road — and  they  were  a  good  half 
dozen  miles  from  the  Mannings,  whither  Perkins 
announced  his  intention  of  escorting  him,  but  obvi- 
ously not  in  time  for  supper.  Now  enthusiasm 
always  made  Latimer  hungry  and  he  had  eaten 
moderately  at  noon  in  preparation  for  his  after- 
noon's walk. 

"  There's  a  little  place  half  a  mile  down  the  auto- 
mobile road,"  said  Perkins.  "  I  have  had  sand- 
wiches there,  and  that's  about  all  I  can  vouch 
for." 

"  I  am  really  not  thinking  of  food,  but  of  a  brief 
rest  and  talk,"  Latimer  lied. 

It  was  an  old  house  standing  back  from  the  high- 
way, but  an  open  booth  had  been  flung  out  close 
to  the  road  to  catch  the  transient  trade  in  sarsa- 
parilla  and  cheese  sandwiches.  The  professional 
country-inn  touch  had  been  attempted  in  a  muster 
of  green-painted  tables  and  chairs  on  the  lawn, 
grouped  around  a  lofty  flagpole.  Signs  nailed  up 
against  the  trees  offered  ice-cream  and  home-made 
candy.  Well-groomed  Wyandottes  and  Rhode  Isl- 
and Reds  sauntered  among  the  tables  and  submitted 


The  Mother  307 

to  comment.  There  was  an  aspect  of  modest  pros- 
perity that  pleased  the  sybarite  in  Latimer. 

Details  are  lacking  as  to  the  nature  of  the  repast 
which  our  travelers  ordered.  It  was  simple  enough, 
but  gave  Latimer  occasion  to  wonder  at  what  mys- 
terious hour  of  the  day  Perkins  did  take  sustenance. 
He  recalled  that  in  Westville  the  playwright  had 
told  him  he  never  ate  luncheon,  and  now  Perkins 
asserted  that  he  always  ate  a  very  light  supper. 
Could  it  be  part  of  the  dramatist's  trade,  Latimer 
conjectured;  at  least  while  waiting  for  a  Broadway 
production  ? 

They  stated  their  requirements  to  the  mistress  of 
the  house.  Considering  how  short  was  the  list,  it 
was  odd  that  they  had  to  specify  every  article  twice, 
and  then  she  came  back  to  reassure  herself  whether 
it  was  cheese  or  ham  they  wanted.  They  had 
found  her  sitting  quietly  in  the  little  booth,  with 
her  hands  clasped  on  the  counter  before  her.  She 
had  watched  them  turn  in  from  the  road,  pick  out 
their  table,  dispose  themselves  in  comfort  and  look 
about  for  attendance,  without  bestirring  herself. 
Latimer  wondered  whether  she  had  seen  them  at 
all,  so  quick  was  the  start  with  which  she  became 
aware  of  their  presence.  It  was  a  flash  of  energy 
which  sank  again,  we  have  already  noticed,  to 


308        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

listlessness  as  she  took  their  order.  Or  could  it  be 
ill-health,  thought  Latimer.  Obviously  not.  He 
saw  a  rugged,  deep-chested  woman  of  not  more 
than  forty.  Eyes  dark,  soft,  intelligent,  Latimer 
noted  further;  mouth,  broad  and  with  capacities  for 
humor;  nose,  high-bridged,  masterful,  sensitive.  A 
touch  of  foreign  blood  there  might  be,  but  the  base 
was  good  native  stock.  Latimer  felt  proud  of  his 
countrywoman,  and  wondered. 

"  Shall  I  be  longing  for  all  this,  Perkins,  to- 
morrow when  the  city  gets  me  ? "  He  spoke 
dreamily,  sweeping  a  lazy  hand  over  the  kindly 
scene.  Cool  tongues  of  shadow  were  creeping 
forward  across  the  lawn.  The  cleanly  white  of  the 
old  house  took  on  sharper  edges  against  the  deepen- 
ing green  of  the  ground.  The  flag  on  its  absurdly 
tall  pole  flapped  tentatively  in  the  falling  breeze. 
Wyandotte  and  Rhode  Island  Red,  having  strutted 
their  brief  day  across  the  stage,  drifted  away  to 
rest  and  duty.  From  the  rear  of  the  house,  two 
sturdy  forms  in  rompers,  twins  even  at  that  dis- 
tance, came  on  hand  in  hand,  paused  a  moment, 
deep  centre,  to  examine  and  count  the  audience, 
and  disappeared  into  the  barn,  right.  From  the 
barn,  leading  the  remonstrant  twins  by  the  hand, 
speedily  came  a  lad  of  thirteen,  with  a  fishing  pole 


The  Mother  309 

over  his  shoulder.  He  gave  the  visitors  one  hur- 
ried glance,  and  vanished  into  the  house.  From 
the  house  again  issued  a  tall  bearded  man  in  over- 
alls, stopped  to  examine  the  audience,  and  turned 
back. 

"  It's  like  a  Max  Reinhardt  shadow-picture," 
said  Perkins. 

A  heavy  automobile,  its  sole  occupant  in  the 
driver's  seat,  went  hurtling  by. 

"  This  would  be  your  impetuous  friend  Mr. 
Busby,"  said  Latimer;  but  even  that  bloated 
charioteer,  on  the  wings  of  the  thunder,  could  not 
break  the  soft  peace  around  them  and  in  their 
souls. 

The  tall  man  reappeared  from  the  kitchen,  this 
time  with  a  tray.  As  he  moved  across  the  lawn 
it  might  have  been  a  Max  Reinhardt  priest  ap- 
proaching the  footlights  with  a  mystic  salver. 
However  it  was  the  sandwiches,  the  milk,  and  the 
plate  of  honey  in  the  comb  they  were  expecting. 
And  the  servitor,  on  close  inspection,  was  not  at 
all  Oriental  or  sinister,  but  a  blue-eyed  up-state 
New  Yorker,  with  the  soft,  almost  artist  gentle- 
ness of  good,  old  blood  thinned  with  the  genera- 
tions. At  a  safe  guess  he  was  twenty  years  older 
than  his  wife. 


310        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

Having  put  down  the  tray  before  them,  the  host 
sat  down  with  a  courtesy  that  was  more  of  the 
gentleman  at  his  own  fireside  than  the  commercial 
affability  of  the  modern  inn-keeper.  The  rest  of 
the  order,  he  explained  to  Perkins,  whom  he  rec- 
ognized, would  be  forthcoming  immediately.  In 
the  meanwhile  he  hoped  they  had  had  a  pleasant 
walk. 

They  had,  indeed,  Latimer  hastened  to  tell  him; 
and  the  best  part  of  it  was  this  charming  oppor- 
tunity for  rest  and  entertainment  at  the  day's  end. 
How  remote  was  this  little  haven  from  the  boom- 
ing world;  from  the  war  for  instance. 

The  host  nodded.  Would  the  war  last  much 
longer,  did  they  think? 

Latimer  waved  aside  any  pretence  to  special 
knowledge.  His  eyes  were  on  the  woman  who  now 
appeared  with  another  tray,  followed  by  the  twins, 
adventuring  plainly  without  her  knowledge.  Only 
as  she  was  setting  down  butter  and  bread  before 
the  guests  did  she  grow  aware  of  the  junior  de- 
tachment behind  her.  She  pounced  upon  the  two, 
struck  simultaneously  with  both  palms  and  good 
aim  and  control,  and  pushed  them  roughly  from 
her. 

"  Go  right  back,  the  both  of  you,"  she  shouted, 


The  Mother  311 

and  compelled  a  disorderly  retreat.  It  was  a  false 
note  in  the  idyllic  scene  for  our  travelers.  It  was 
not  true  to  character,  either,  or  the  kindly  face  of 
the  woman  spoke  for  nothing.  They  sought  escape 
from  embarrassment  in  their  sandwiches;  an  occu- 
pation to  which  their  hosts  immediately  left  them, 
with  a  friendly  "  Good-night "  from  the  man. 

Perkins  went  through  his  food  with  phenomenal 
speed.  He  was  draining  his  glass  of  milk  when 
the  lad  of  the  fishing  pole  sauntered  out  from  the 
house  on  his  way  to  the  barn  once  more.  Per- 
kins whistled  and  snapped  his  fingers.  The  boy 
turned,  reassured  himself  that  he  was  the  one 
wanted,  and  came  near. 

"Yes,  sir?" 

"  That's  a  mighty  fine  pole  for  a  person  of  your 
age,"  said  Perkins.  The  boy's  hand  gripped  on 
the  rod  with  pride  and  the  zest  of  possession. 

"  That  was  brother  Bob's,  sir.  It's  mine  now. 
He  gave  it  to  me  for  keeps." 

"  I  see;  and  where's  brother  Bob?  " 

The  lad  straightened  up. 

"  Went  off  to  camp,  this  morning,  sir;  he's  en- 
listed. And  I'm  to  have  his  room,  all  to  myself/' 

"  You'd  better  take  this,"  said  Perkins,  fishing  in 
his  pocket.  "  Next  time  you  write  to  Bob  send 


312        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

him  a  pipe  and  half  a  pound  of  straight  cut,  from 
me." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  and  he  resumed  his  errand 
to  the  barn. 

It  was  dark  on  the  lawn  when  they  paid  their 
small  account  and  that  was  why,  presumably,  the 
woman  twice  gave  them  more  change  out  of  their 
dollar  bill  than  they  were  entitled  to. 

"  And  now  for  a  good  hour  and  a  half  in  the 
dark,"  cried  Perkins  briskly. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
CAUTION 

(Ax  this  point  the  well-informed  reader,  pro- 
vided he  has  adventured  thus  far,  will  take  the 
thickness  of  pages  to  the  end  of  this  book  between 
thumb  and  index  finger,  and  say,  "  How  now,  is 
it  not  about  here  that  we  must  expect  the  great 
fistic  tourney,  the  Homeric  clash  of  bone  and  flesh 
upon  bone  and  flesh,  the  play  of  lunge  and  smash 
and  upper-cut  without  which  any  romance  of  the 
open  road  is  but  a  mockery  ?  " 

Even  so.     If  only  the  well-informed  reader  had 
waited  till  the  next  page!) 


313 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE  BATTLE 

"  TIRED?  "  said  Perkins  after  a  while. 

"  A  little,"  said  Latimer.  "  When  I  get  home  I 
will  have  made  how  many  miles  ?  " 

There  was  still  light  enough  for  Perkins  to  pull 
out  his  road-map  and  retrace  the  route  Latimer  had 
covered  that  afternoon.  The  distances  on  that 
large-scale  map  were  measured  in  inches  to  the 
mile,  but  Latimer  had  the  pride  as  if  each  of  those 
inches  were  a  couple  of  hundred  miles  right  across 
darkest  Africa. 

"We'll  get  to  Manning's  by  nine?" 

"  No  trouble  at  all,"  said  Perkins,  and  his  face 
went  white  as  he  threw  himself  upon  Latimer, 
whirled  him  off  the  road  and  sent  him  staggering 
half  a  dozen  feet  against  a  stile.  Latimer's  back 
came  sharp  against  the  rail  and  he  would  have  gone 
over  if  Perkins,  following  up  his  thrust  with  a  leap, 
had  not  reached  his  side  and  thrown  his  arm 
around  the  older  man's  shoulder.  He  was  shaking 
with  fright  and  rage. 

314 


The  Battle  315 

"The  dirty  scoundrel!"  he  cried,  "the  filthy 
scoundrel !  " 

Fifty  yards  down  the  road  a  large  automobile 
was  slackening  up  to  the  grinding  of  brakes. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Latimer,  and  his  legs  grew 
very  weak  under  him. 

"  He  tried  to  run  us  down.  He  was  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  road.  He  didn't  give  us  the 
horn.  The  man  was  up  to  murder." 

"That?  That?"  said  Latimer  pointing  to  the 
automobile  which  had  now  come  to  a  standstill. 
"  I  heard  a  noise,  but  it  blended, — confused, — your 
sudden  assault — Perkins — " 

"  It's  all  right,  sir,"  said  Perkins  and  wiped  his 
forehead.  "You  were  facing  the  wrong  way;  it 
was  lucky  I  happened  to  look  up." 

"  A  madman,"  said  Latimer. 

"  Mad  or  drunk;  it's  that  beast  Busby,"  said 
Perkins  and  started  suddenly  for  the  car.  The 
automobile  had  come  to  a  stop  and  the  driver,  turn- 
ing in  his  seat,  was  merrily  waving  his  hand  at  the 
men  whose  lives  he  had  played  with. 

"  Perkins,  it's  unbelievable — No  one  would  be 
capable  of  deliberate — " 

Perkins  was  sprinting  for  the  automobile  where 
Busby,  after  expressing  his  joy,  had  applied  him- 


316        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

self  to  the  levers.  The  car  began  to  move  for- 
ward. 

"  You  filthy  coward,"  yelled  Perkins,  as  the  car 
began  to  glide  forward.  The  tears  were  in  his 
eyes.  "  Come  back,"  he  screamed. 

Busby  turned  in  his  seat  and  twiddled  his  fingers, 
and  Perkins  suddenly  stooped  to  the  road.  Busby 
pulled  back  his  hand  in  haste,  crouched  over  his 
wheel,  and  made  an  effort  to  send  the  car  zigzagging 
across  the  road.  He  was  not  quite  in  time.  A 
great  chunk  of  rock  from  Perkins'  hand,  took  the 
driver  in  the  side  of  the  head  and  went  crashing 
through  the  windshield.  A  warm  stream  of  blood 
ran  down  the  man's  face  and  he  howled.  The  car 
which  he  had  begun  to  manceuver  when  he  saw  the 
missile  coming,  now  danced  back  and  forth  across 
the  road  of  its  own  will.  It  shot  half-way  up  a 
sand  slope  and  remained  upright,  and  Busby,  bare- 
headed, his  right  cheek  wet  and  scarlet,  leaped  out 
of  the  car  and  came  running  back. 

Not  until  Latimer  saw  Busby's  six  feet  of  flesh 
hurling  itself  up  the  road  towards  Perkins  did  he 
emerge  from  the  haze  into  which  that  mighty  thrust 
had  sent  him.  He  sprang  up  the  embankment  to 
where  Perkins  stood  poised  for  the  attack,  quiver- 
ing with  a  hot  wrath  that  drew  a  thin  film  of  red 


The  Battle  317 

across  the  iris.  Latimer's  heart  tightened  at  the 
pitiful  disproportion  between  the  lankness  of  Per- 
kins and  the  massive  hulk  which  was  descending 
upon  them;  a  good  of  deal  of  it  gristle  and  bad 
wind  to  be  sure,  thought  Latimer,  but  with  the  sug- 
gestion, in  those  heavy  shoulders  and  the  pilaster 
neck,  of  more  power  than  Latimer  could  have 
wished  to  see. 

He  threw  his  arm  about  his  friend's  shoulder. 

"  You  will  not  fight,  I  implore  you.  You  have 
amply  repaid  him  for  his  villainous  attempt." 

"  He  evidently  believes  there  is  something  more 
coming  to  him,"  said  Perkins,  staring  in  front  of 
him  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  twitching.  The 
enemy  was  only  twenty  feet  away,  and  instinctive 
prudence  counseled  Busby  to  slacken  his  pace  and 
be  more  thrifty  of  his  breath;  but  his  rage  floated 
before  him. 

"  You  dirty  little  shrimp,  I'll  smash  you  for 
that,"  he  bellowed.  "  I'll  spoil  your  little  holiday 
trip  for  you." 

He  came  on,  though  with  growing  caution,  and 
Perkins  stepped  forward  to  meet  him. 

Latimer  threw  himself  between  the  two. 

"  I  forbid  this  encounter.  Enough  blood  has 
been  shed.  Perkins — " 


318         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  If  he  has  had  enough,  let  him  say  so,"  said 
Perkins  with  a  steady  eye  on  the  enemy.  "  I  guess 
we  are  about  even,"  and  he  grinned. 

Latimer's  allusion  to  blood  was  unfortunate.  It 
intensified  Busby's  sense  of  outraged  pity  for  his 
own  hurts,  and  the  Perkins  grin  whipped  him  into 
fury. 

He  howled  at  Latimer. 

"  Keep  out  of  this,  you  there;  it's  none  of  your 
concern ! " 

The  combatants  edged  away  from  Latimer  so  as 
to  leave  him  outside  the  line  of  fire  and  slipped 
nearer  to  each  other.  Bubsy  crouched  from  his  for- 
midable shoulders.  His  enormous  arms  were  thrust 
before  him  and  shuttled  back  and  forth.  But  Lat- 
imer followed  and  sprang  between  the  two  men. 

"  I  will  not  have  this,"  he  cried. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  you  old  fool,"  shouted 
Busby  and  swept  his  left  arm  up  and  out,  catching 
Latimer  under  the  chin  and  hurling  him  back 
towards  the  further  edge  of  the  road.  The  blow 
across  his  throat  sent  two  needles  of  pain  through 
Latimer's  temples.  His  knees  shook  under  him, 
and  gasping  for  breath  he  staggered  back  to  the 
fence  and  leaned  heavily  against  it.  He  groaned, 
not  in  pain,  or  in  fear  for  himself,  but  because  it 


The  Battle 


319 


was  now  too  late  to  avert  calamity.  For  simul- 
taneously with  Busby's  blow,  Perkins  cried  out  and 
sprang  forward. 

"  Oh,  you  swine,"  he  spat  out.  Leaping  to  one 
side  he  drove  his  knuckles  into  Busby's  head  a  little 
above  the  ear,  a  little  below  the  gap  made  by  his 
own  missile.  Busby  countered  with  his  left  arm, 
not  fast  enough  to  avert  the  stroke,  but  in  time 
to  crash  his  fist  into  Perkins's  shoulder.  The  im- 
pact sent  Perkins  spinning  half  way  around,  and 
immediately  the  two  were  facing  each  other  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  and  their  backs  to  the  sides  of 
the  road.  Behind  Busby  was  the  fence  guarding 
the  edge  of  the  embankment.  Behind  Perkins  was 
the  steep  side  of  the  hill,  heavily  wooded  and  sown 
with  great  boulders.  Thus : 


320        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

The  present  chronicler  is  aware  that  in  all  similar 
encounters  in  romantic  fiction,  between  a  pair  so 
oddly  matched  as  Perkins  and  Busby,  there  is  al- 
ways but  one  outcome.  The  slim,  clean-living- 
young  man  has  it  always  his  own  way — after  the 
conventional  few  minutes  of  suspense — against  the 
superior  mass  of  ill-conditioned  fat  and  bad  lung 
power  handicapped  by  a  lack  of  the  subtler  tricks 
of  the  pugilist's  art.  But  as  it  happens  the  general 
rule  held  true,  in  the  present  instance,  neither  for 
Perkins  who  had  never  gone  in  for  the  study  and 
practice  of  boxing,  nor  yet  for  Busby  whose  life 
must  have  been  much  more  sober  than  is  customary 
in  such  crises  in  imaginative  literature. 

A  second  time  Perkins  succeeded  in  getting  home 
to  Busby's  head — he  was  concentrating  on  that  raw 
wound  over  the  ear — and  a  second  time,  by  duck- 
ing, he  saved  his  own  face  from  punishment,  at 
the  cost  of  a  smashing  blow  on  the  left  shoulder. 
He  clenched  his  teeth  in  a  pain  so  exquisite  that  it 
seemed  certain  his  shoulder-bone  had  given  way. 
He  feinted  with  his  left  to  find  out  if  it  was  as  bad 
as  that,  and  the  pain  was  forgotten  in  the  sense 
of  relief  that  he  could  still  swing  his  arm.  Never- 
theless it  was  plain  that  he  could  not  afford  to 
stand  and  exchange  blow  for  blow.  He  would  be 


The  Battle  321 

worn  out  in  no  time.  He  began  to  give  ground 
very  slowly  at  first,  counter  attacking  repeatedly 
with  threats  for  the  jaw  and  the  temple,  but  re- 
treating nevertheless.  A  swift  glance  over  his 
shoulder  showed  that  he  was  less  than  a  yard  from 
the  hillside.  Directly  behind  him  was  a  great  mass 
of  granite  which  in  the  course  of  years  had  racked 
and  torn  its  way  down  the  slope  to  the  edge  of  the 
road.  Perkins  thought  rapidly. 

That  backward  glance  brought  a  spasm  of  agony 
to  Latimer's  heart.  Perkins  was  weakening. 
Another  minute  or  two  and  he  would  be  pinned 
against  the  boulder  with  Busby's  brute  arms  pound- 
ing his  flesh  against  it.  Latimer  pressed  his  palms 
against  his  cheeks  and  the  sweat  came  out  on  his 
forehead.  Yet  there  was  no  way  out.  In  the 
midst  of  his  agony  a  queer  sense  of  justice  beset 
him.  With  all  his  passionate  hatred  for  the 
scoundrel  that  had  put  them  in  peril  of  their  lives 
and  was  now  preparing  to  deliver  bitter  punish- 
ment for  their  reprisal,  Latimer  could  not  forget 
that  the  battle  was  partly  of  Perkins's  own  choos- 
ing. It  could  have  been  avoided  by  prudence. 
Now  the  price  must  be  paid.  How  he  despised  him- 
self for  that  unmanly  sense  of  justice! 

"  One  side,  one  side,  jump  Perkins !  "  he  shouted. 


322        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

Perkins  was  now  only  inches  from  the  rock.  He 
was  losing  his  freedom  of  manceuver.  He  jumped, 
but  not  to  one  side.  He  sprang  straight  at  Busby 
and  drove  his  fist  into  that  broad  expanse  of  face. 
Busby  took  the  blow  without  flinching,  struck  out 
with  both  arms,  once  against  that  weakened  left 
shoulder,  once  against  the  chest,  and  as  Perkins 
reeled  back  he  plunged  forward  for  the  final 
blow. 

Only  now  did  Perkins  leap  to  one  side,  and 
Busby,  hurtling  on,  dived  full  force  with  both  fists 
and  lowered  head  into  the  boulder.  He  stood  fixed 
there  a  moment  and  sank  to  his  knees  in  a  ridiculous 
and  gruesome  attitude  of  prayer.  With  a  violent 
effort  he  whirled  half  around  and  fell,  part  re- 
clining, to  the  ground,  his  shoulder  on  the  rock,  his 
arms  limp  at  his  sides,  his  eyes  closed. 

Latimer  was  at  Perkins's  side  with  his  arms 
about  him. 

"Thank  God,  thank  God;  and  be  done."  He 
was  sobbing,  but  Perkins  stood  still,  the  pain  in  his 
shoulder  twisting  his  lips.  He  looked  down  at 
Busby. 

"  Had  enough  ?  "  he  said. 

"  It  was  a  trick,  damn  you,"  gasped  the  big  man. 
"  Give  me  another  chance  and  I'll  show  you." 


The  Battle  323 

"  Perkins,  it  is  enough ;  let  us  be  gone,"  pleaded 
Latimer. 

"  I  won't  run,  Latimer,"  said  Perkins,  and  the 
other  began  to  understand  something  of  that  will 
which  had  fought  its  way  through  years  of  man- 
handled manuscript  to  a  Broadway  production. 
"  This  has  got  to  be  seen  through.  Please  stand 
back." 

Busby  was  now  on  his  feet  and  again  on  the 
charge.  He  had  got  back  his  breath  and  his  wits 
and  he  now  set  himself  to  wear  out  his  opponent. 
He  took  blows  on  his  arms  and  torso  and  gave  them 
back,  a  traffic  in  which  he  was  bound  to  profit. 
And  Latimer,  standing  behind  Perkins,  as  the  lat- 
ter dodged  and  ducked,  could  only  groan  at  his 
friend's  mistaken  chivalry.  Perkins  was  tiring 
fast.  He  had  gone  as  usual  without  his  luncheon. 
He  had  walked  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  His 
repast  at  the  roadside  booth  had  been  of  the  slight- 
est. He  was  white  now  from  the  mat  of  his  lank 
hair  to  his  chin,  and  the  pain  in  his  shoulder  was 
like  a  hot  iron  on  the  bare  nerves.  They  were  cir- 
cling about  in  a  daze,  hitting  out  blindly,  neglecting 
to  take  advantage  of  open  guards.  Perkins  found 
himself  longing  for  the  decisive  blow,  one  way  or 
the  other,  if  only  this  dreadful  ache  and  weariness 


324        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

should  end.  But  this  was  cowardice,  and  he  cast 
the  thought  from  him  in  a  sudden  onset  of  devour- 
ing hatred  for  the  enemy.  He  must  try  strategy 
again,  and  this  time  there  would  be  no  mistaken 
mercy.  He  would — 

"  Look  out,  you  old  man  there !  "  shouted  Busby, 
and  Perkins  turned  his  head  to  see  what  this  new 
peril  to  Latimer  might  be  that  drew  a  warning  from 
the  enemy.  But  Latimer  was  behind  him,  quite 
safe,  as  utterly  puzzled  by  the  shout  of  warning 
as  Perkins  himself.  Then  it  must  be  a  ruse,  flashed 
across  Perkins,  an  ignoble  trick — and  a  great  blow 
descended  on  the  side  of  his  head.  He  crumpled 
to  the  ground,  and  fell  back,  his  head  striking 
against  the  hard-flints  protruding  from  the  worn 
macadam.  His  eyes  closed. 

Latimer  had  sprung  forward  too  late  to  save  him 
from  the  fall.  He  could  think  now  of  nothing  else 
but  to  plump  down  there  in  the  road  and  lift  Per- 
kins's head  into  his  lap,  bending  over  him,  watch- 
ing for  a  sign  of  returning  breath.  The  man  lay 
still.  Only  his  chest  showed  the  slightest  heave, 
and  this,  to  Latimer  in  his  state  of  tortured  fear, 
was  but  the  agony  that  preceded  the  end  of  all 
things.  Busby,  standing  over  his  victim,  cleansed 
suddenly  from  his  blood-lust,  was  moved  to  a 


The  Battle  325 

rough  compassion, — to  remorse  perhaps,  by  the 
pain  and  terror  in  the  old  man's  eyes.  He  stooped 
over  Perkins  and  laid  his  ear  to  his  chest. 

"  He's  all  right,  don't  you  worry,"  he  announced. 
"  I'll  fetch  you  some  water." 

It  was  minutes  before  he  had  run  to  his  car, 
rummaged  out  a  vessel  of  some  kind,  and  made 
his  way  down  to  the  creek  and  back,  while  L'atimer 
held  Perkins's  head  in  his  arms,  and  stared  before 
him  in  a  paralysis  of  despair.  Busby  dashed  half 
the  contents  of  the  cup  into  the  face  of  the  uncon- 
scious man,  waited  a  moment,  and  gave  him  the 
rest.  The  colorless  lips  trembled  and  drew  down 
at  the  corners  into  a  grimace  that  was  half  a  smile, 
half  a  contortion  of  pain.  The  eyes  opened  and 
smiled  faintly  at  Latimer  and  closed  again. 

"  He'll  be  all  right,"  said  Busby  and  turned  to 
go,  hesitated,  and  returned.  "  See  here.  Suppose 
I  run  the  car  back.  We  can  make  him  comfortable 
on  the  rear  seat.  I'll  take  him  anywhere  you 
say." 

"  You  think  he  is  well,"  whispered  Latimer. 

"  Sure  thing.  I've  been  there  myself.  He'll 
wake  up  in  a  few  mintues  as  good  as  ever.  I  am 
going  for  the  car." 

"You  are  sure,  quite  sure?"  said  Latimer. 


326        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

"  Don't  you  worry.     It's  getting  pretty  late." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Latimer.  With  as  little 
disturbance  to  the  unconscious  Perkins  as  might  be, 
he  divested  himself  of  his  coat,  folded  it  and  laid 
it  down  beside  him.  Very  gently  he  raised  his 
friend's  head  and  shoulders  and  pillowed  them  on 
the  coat,  stooping  over  him  to  get  reassurance  of 
the  freer  play  of  breath  through  his  partly  opened 
lips.  The  limp  arms  began  to  show  life  in  little 
tremors  and  twitches. 

Yes,  Perkins  was  coming  round  as  Busby  said 
he  would.  Busby !  There  stood  that  gross  sack  of 
debased  flesh,  the  foul  fighter,  complaisant  in  his 
triumph,  and  on  the  ground — Perkins — 

"  Assassin !  "  screamed  Latimer  and  threw  him- 
self at  Busby,  red  with  the  desire  to  rend  and 
smash  and  reduce  that  gorilla  shape  to  the  same 
prostrate  helplessness.  Latimer  had  not  fought  for 
near  forty-five  years,  but  he  would  not  have  used 
skill  and  experience  if  they  were  his.  His  soul 
cried  for  primitive  vengeance.  His  hands  clawed 
out  at  Busby's  face  but  fell  short  and  seized  at  the 
man's  collar.  There  they  fastened. 

Busby  staggered  back  under  the  swift  assault. 

"Let  go!  Let  go,  I  tell  you,  old  fool!  Don't 
make  me !  Let  go,  damn  you !  " 


The  Battle  327 

For  Latimer's  fingers  had  clawed  up  an  inch  or 
two  and  gripped  the  throat.  His  head  was  buried 
in  Busby's  chest  and  his  hands  dug  deeper  and 
deeper  under  the  blows  that  descended  upon  him 
from  those  mauling  arms.  His  body  swished  from 
side  to  side  as  the  giant,  in  pain  and  panic,  strug- 
gled to  shake  himself  free.  He  was  aware  of  the 
blows  on  his  head  and  ribs,  but  he  did  not  feel 
them;  or  else  it  was  the  automatic  reflex  of  his  own 
pain  that  stiffened  his  fingers  around  the  fat 
throat,  with  the  rigor  of  a  drowning  man.  Lati- 
mer's fingers  were  a  vise  which  Busby's  huge 
threshings  only  screwed  tighter  around  his  throat. 
The  fat  man's  strength  oozed  from  him,  the  breath 
rattled  in  his  throat,  his  blows  became  comic  con- 
vulsions which  spent  themselves  in  the  air.  He 
sank  to  his  knees  with  Latimer  on  top  of  him, 
clutched  at  those  implacable  hands,  and  went  down. 

Only  then  did  Latimer  loosen  his  grip.  He  sat 
down  on  the  road,  still  unconscious  of  his  own 
pain,  and  from  an  immense  distance  looked  down 
upon  the  silent  Busby. 

"  I  have  killed,"  said  Latimer,  and  the  words 
sounded  in  his  ears  as  impersonal,  as  remote,  as 
though  he  were  conjugating  the  verb  "  to  kill  "  in 
some  foreign  tongue.  He  rose,  picked  up  the 


328        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

aluminum  goblet,  slowly  made  his  way  to  the  creek, 
filled  the  cup,  and  returned  to  Perkins.  Once 
more  he  sat  down  in  the  road,  took  his  friend's 
head  in  his  lap,  and  with  a  strange  sense  of  certi- 
tude and  expertship,  forced  the  teeth  open  and 
poured  in  the  water.  Perkins's  shoulders  heaved, 
his  eyes  opened,  fluttered  a  moment,  remained 
open. 

"  I'm  all  right,  Latimer,"  he  whispered. 

"Don't  talk;  rest,"  said  Latimer,  and  Perkins, 
like  a  sick  child  being  good,  obeyed  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

"  I  have  killed,"  thought  Latimer,  looking  out 
into  the  dark,  and  this  time  it  was  not  a  foreign 
tongue  he  was  speaking.  A  fit  of  trembling  came 
over  him  and  his  tears  fell  on  Perkins's  face. 

Ten  minutes  later,  Manning  and  Margaret,  scout- 
ing in  the  Ford  for  their  lost  visitor,  came  upon 
Latimer  and  Perkins  kneeling  in  the  road  over  a 
groaning,  cursing  form  that  was  Busby.  The  girl 
cried  out  as  the  car  lamps  flashed  on  the  horrid 
spectacle,  but  Manning  was  immediately  forward 
on  the  brakes  and  out  of  the  car.  Precisely  at  the 
moment  he  reached  the  interesting  group  in  the 
road,  the  immense  Mr.  Busby  stirred,  heaved  him- 
self up,  and  swore  horribly. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
MANNING'S  LAST  INNING 

NEXT  morning  brought  profound  disappointment 
to  Manning.  For  after  the  first  glance  of  assurance 
that  no  harm  had  come  to  Latimer,  there  entered 
into  the  journalist  the  ghoulish  hope  that  Latimer 
might  show  after-effects;  oh,  nothing  serious,  of 
course,  but  a  slight  nervous  relapse,  say,  that  would 
postpone  the  departure  for  the  city  a  couple  of 
days.  With  Latimer  playing  the  gentle  invalid  for 
a  few  days  in  a  rocking  chair,  what  might  not  one 
accomplish?  What  questions,  what  doubts —  It 
was  really  too  good  to  be  true,  Manning  trembled. 
It  was.  The  following  morning  Latimer  rose 
earlier  than  usual  and  announced  that  he  had  never 
felt  so  well.  An  extraordinary  sense  of  exhilara- 
tion, he  said,  made  him  fear  whether  deep  down 
in  him  the  primitive  brute  did  not  lurk,  ready  to 
leap  forward  and  take  joy  in  fierce  blows  and 
slaughter.  Neither  was  Perkins  much  the  worse 
for  his  ordeal.  He  would  not  hear  of  intruding  on 
Latimer's  last  day,  as  originally  planned  out  by 

329 


330        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

Manning,  and  departed  soon  after  breakfast  with 
renewed  pledges  of  box-seats  for  Latimer  and  his 
wife  at  the  Broadway  first  night.  The  picnic  for 
three  in  the  woods  came  off  according  to  schedule; 
a  pleasant  venture,  indeed,  with  Margaret  talking 
more  than  her  wont,  but  the  two  men  thoughtful 
under  the  prospect  of  separation. 

As  the  sun  was  going  down  behind  the  hills 
Latimer  came  out  on  the  porch  with  his  knapsack. 

"  You  have  three  quarters  of  an  hour  and  we 
can  make  the  station  in  twenty  minutes,"  said  Man- 
ning. "  There  is  one  thing  that  bothers  me.  I 
have  been  looking  again  into  that  book  on  like- 
mindedness." 

"  I  always  insist  on  being  early  for  trains,"  said 
Latimer.  "  You  can  ask  your  question  on  the 
way." 

When  Manning  drove  up  from  the  barn  in  that 
fiery  Ford,  Latimer  was  giving  his  last  admonitions 
to  Margaret. 

"  You  are  to  bring  father  down  with  you,  say, 
about  the  fifteenth  of  December,  and  you  are  to 
bring  enough  things  to  last  you  until  after  New 
Year's." 

"Yes,  Dr.  Latimer." 

"  Including  an  evening  frock.     Mrs.  Latimer  is 


Manning's  Last  Inning  331 

fond  of  the  opera.  My  own  tastes  run  more  to 
orchestral  music,  but  we  will  arrange  that." 

"  I  can  go  with  Mrs.  Latimer,  and  you  and  papa 
can  stay  at  home  and  talk,"  said  Margaret. 

He  shook  his  head  at  her  reproachfully. 

"  I  don't  like  irony  in  the  young,  Margaret;  and 
I  don't  like  to  be  scrutinized  too  closely  by  young 
eyes — even  if  they  are  of  your  color  of  blue.  We 
ancients  have  enough  of  our  own  past  to  rise  up  and 
keep  us  humble,  without  calling  in  our  children." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Dr.  Latimer,"  faltered  the 
girl. 

"  If  you  really  are,  I  forgive  you ;  otherwise  I 
shall  resent  it  until  I  turn  the  corner.  Good-by, 
my  dear." 

He  kissed  her  and  ran  down  the  porch  steps 
more  hastily  than  the  occasion  called  for.  Man- 
ning waved  his  hand  to  the  girl  and  the  machine 
shot  away. 

"  I  must  surely  come  back,"  said  Latimer,  turn- 
ing to  keep  the  house  in  sight  as  long  as  might  be. 
"  How  much  do  you  know  of  your  daughter  ? 
Manning?  " 

"  I  have  learned  to  know  her  quite  well  since  I 
left  the  paper,"  said  Manning  seriously.  He  had 
slackened  speed, — with  all  that  time  before  them  to 


332        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

make  the  four  and  a  half  miles — and  drove  with 
one  hand  on  the  wheel  and  his  eye  on  Latimer,  who 
was  taking  memory  photographs  of  the  road. 

"  I  think  I  have  found  the  answer,"  said  Man- 
ning suddenly. 

Latimer  came  to  with  a  start. 

"Answer?    To  what?" 

"  To  America." 

"  You  are  to  be  congratulated,"  said  Latimer 
very  seriously;  "and  it  would  make  me  happy  to 
think  that  I  have  helped.  I  know  the  Mannings 
have  helped  me." 

"  Oh,  but  you  have.  Do  you  recall  what  you 
said  about  the  Melting  Pot  and  about  Slovaks,  Bul- 
garians, Ukrainians." 

"  I  have  said  so  many  things  since  I  first  met 
you,  Manning." 

"  Last  night,  while  I  was  putting  my  feathered 
seminary  to  bed,  something  came  to  me  out  of  my 
old  text  books  in  American  history;  well,  not  text- 
books, but  what  I  had  read  on  American  history, 
somewhere.  Perhaps  it  was  at  college,  though 
that  is  hardly  likely.  And  it  was  something  like 
this;  that  the  history  of  the  United  States  has 
largely  been  shaped  by  its  frontier." 

"  That  is  quite  true,"  said  Latimer.    "  Whenever 


Manning's  Last  Inning  333 

the  older  settlements  have  threatened  to  go  stale, 
under  the  influence  of  ease  and  wealth  and  Europe, 
there  has  come  a  fresh  breath  out  of  the  West. 
You  are  sure  we  are  making  good  time." 

"  Oceans  of  time,  Latimer.  But  I  meant  some- 
thing more  tangible  than  this  spirit  of  the  frontier. 
I  meant  the  actual  stretch  of  river-valley  and 
prairie  and  mountains,  which  the  older  settle- 
ments held  in  trust,  you  might  say,  for  the  future. 
I  remember  reading  somewhere,  for  instance,  that 
one  of  the — " 

"  Good  lord,  Manning,  watch  your  wheel !  "  and 
Latimer  clutched  at  the  side  of  the  car  as  the 
machine  swerved,  lurched  to  the  side  of  the 
road,  hesitated  whether  to  get  off  the  macadam 
altogether,  and  then  under  the  persuasion 
of  Manning's  strong  wrist  went  back  to  its 
course. 

"  That  one  of  the  reasons  which  kept  the  thir- 
teen colonies  from  going  at  each  other's  throat 
after  the  Revolution,  and  brought  about  the  Union, 
was  the  Northwest  Territory.  There  it  lay  out  in 
the  dark,  hundreds  of  thousands  of  square  miles 
and  somebody  had  to  keep  an  eye  on  it.  So  they 
incorporated  the  United  States." 

"  That  historic  theory  is  thirty  years  old,"  said 


334        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

Latimer  thoughtfully.  "  By  this  time  it  may  have 
been  abandoned." 

"  Don't  say  that,"  cried  Manning,  and  turned 
piteously  to  his  passenger,  who  immediately 
grasped  the  side  of  the  car. 

Latimer  found  himself  divided  between  remorse 
and  alarm. 

"  I  was  jesting,"  he  said.  "  Of  course  the  theory 
is  still  sound.  Only  keep  both  hands  on  the 
wheel." 

"  Well  now,"  said  Manning,  "  this  family  of 
thirteen  colonies  being  held  together  by  that  big, 
raw,  booming  territory  out  there  beyond  the  sun- 
set, struck  me  very  much  like  the  situation  one 
often  finds  in  so  many  families;  where  there  is 
strife  and  unhappiness,  but  they  stick  together." 

"  On  account  of  the  children ! "  cried  Latimer. 
"  My  dear  fellow,  that's  an  inspiration." 

Manning  flushed  to  the  peak  of  his  cap. 

"  The  Northwest  Territory  held  the  family  to- 
gether. And  thirty  years  later  when  New  England 
and  the  South  were  getting  ready  to  bite  each  other 
another  West  came  out  to  act  as  reconciler — Henry 
Clay's  and  Andy  Jackson's  West.  The  kind  of 
treatment  which  this  promising  child  handed  the 
old  folks  wasn't  what  you'd  recommend  in  the 


Manning's  Last  Inning  335 

Y.  M.  C.  A.,  but  it  meant  well,  I  dare  say.  Some- 
times, you  know,  the  family  quarrel  is  about  how 
to  bring  up  the  child.  That's  what  happened  with 
Kansas  and  slavery — " 

"When  did  you  think  this  all  out,  Manning?" 
said  Latimer.  He  was  seething  with  envy. 

"  Oh,  I  lay  awake  the  greater  part  of  the 
night." 

"  And  we  are  still  some  distance  from  the 
station  ?  " 

"I'll  get  you  there  intact,  Latimer.  Now  the 
point  is  this.  Just  as  our  West,  born  of  all  sec- 
tions of  the  old  colonies,  fed  with  their  blood,  has 
been  the  bond  and — " 

The  car  which  had  been  slowing  up  unaccount- 
ably, now  fell  to  a  walk,  to  a  crawl,  gasped,  sput- 
tered, and  stood  still. 

"What  could  that  be?"  said  Latimer. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Manning,  and  tried  the  "  guar- 
anteed "  self-starter  several  times  without  response. 
"  I'll  have  to  take  a  look  under  the  hood." 

He  pulled  up  the  brake  lever,  and  climbed  out. 
Latimer  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"  What  time  do  you  make  it?  "  said  Manning. 

"  We  have  twenty-three  minutes." 

"  Oceans  of  time,"  said  Manning,  his  head  down 


336        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

by  the  carburetor.  "  Do  you  mind  lifting  one  of 
the  lanterns  and  giving  me  a  light?  Thank  you." 
He  had  brought  forth  something  from  the  tool- 
box and  was  tapping  away  there  in  the  dim  interior. 
"  Now  what  is  America  to  the  world  ?  It  is  what 
the  West  has  been  to  America.  It  is  compounded 
of  the  blood  of  all  Europe — "  He  stood  up  and 
Latimer  could  have  sworn  that  Manning's  eyes 
were  aglow  in  the  dark.  "  Think  of  it,  Latimer," 
he  whispered.  "  America,  the  offspring  of  Europe, 
in  her  the  blood  of  every  race — Latimer,  she  will  be 
the  reconciler  of  Europe.  She  will  bring  together 
and  hold  together  a  world  that  is  torn  and  clawing 
and  gone  mad  with  panic  and  gall.  Of  course  she 
is  in  the  mess  herself — " 

"  We  will  finish  this  on  the  station  platform, 
Manning.  Let  us  leave  the  machine  and  walk." 

"  Nonsense.  I'll  have  her  humming  in  a  minute 
or  two."  But  it  was  fifteen  minutes  before  the 
engine  started,  when  Manning,  in  his  despair, 
cranked  the  engine  by  hand.  During  this  quarter 
of  an  hour  Manning  developed  steadily  the  vision 
of  America  the  peacemaker,  while  Latimer  agon- 
ized over  the  dial  of  his  watch.  Eventually  the 
Ford  did  go,  and  well  she  might,  with  two  and  a 
half  miles  to  make  and  seven  minutes  to  do  it  in. 


Manning's  Last  Inning  337 

"  Just  what  was  the  matter  with  her  ? "  said 
Latimer. 

"  Flooded  the  carburetor,  I  guess,  and  while  I've 
been  fussing  the  engine  has  cooled  so  the  rich  mix- 
ture works.  But,  Latimer,  even  if  we  are  caught 
in  this  nightmare  of  a  war,  it  cannot  be  the  same 
with  us.  The  aftermath  of  hatred  cannot  last  as 
long  for  us.  The  mists  must  vanish  sooner.  The 
old  nerve  strings  will  run  again  from  the  heart  of 
America  to  every  corner  of  Europe." 

"  Manning,  I  am  not  perfectly  qualified  to  testify 
to  your  qualifications  as  a  journalist  and  a  chicken 
fancier,  but  as  a  poet — " 

"  There's  your  train,  a  mile  and  a  half  up  the 
road,"  said  Manning.  "  You  can  get  your  ticket 
from  the  conductor.  And  so,  perhaps,  it  will  be 
the  melting  pot  after  all.  A  country  which  God 
may  use  as  the  crucible  for  skimming  off  the  hatreds 
and  stupid  fears  of  a  world, — it  is  not  a  country 
to  be  ashamed  of." 

They  ran  up  to  the  station  platform  and  Man- 
ning jumped  out  with  his  guest's  knapsack.  The 
locomotive  whistle  screeched  and  the  glare  of  the 
headlight  was  on  the  trees  flanking  the  roadbed. 
Latimer  put  his  arm  around  the  other's  shoulder. 

"  You  overheard  Margaret  promise.     You  are 


338         Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

coming  for  the  Christmas  holidays,  if  I  am  not  up 
before." 

"  You've  had  a  good  time,  Latimer  ?  " 

"  I've  met  a  good  fellow.    Will  you  write?  " 

Manning  shook  his  head. 

"  I  won't  promise;  I  am  inclined  to  think  not. 
But  you  can  do  this,  old  man.  Go  out  some- 
times and  buy  the  Star;  and  when  the  heads  are 
more  than  an  inch  and  a  half  high,  think  of 
me." 

"  Would  you  ever  go  back  ?  " 

Manning  shivered,  his  hands  opened  and  shut, 
and  he  moistened  his  lips. 

"  Get  thee  behind  me,  Latimer,"  he  said  quietly. 

The  train  pulled  in.  On  the  car  step  Latimer 
turned  for  a  final  handshake.  Manning's  grasp 
held. 

"  And  if  it  all  should  come  true,  Latimer,  and 
Wilson  moves  into  the  Hague  as  the  first  Chief 
Justice  of  the  World,  then  that  other  thing  would 
grow  clearer,  too,  wouldn't  it?  God,  I  mean,  and 
all  of  it?" 

"  Good-by." 

A  little  woman  climbing  into  the  next  car  with 
three  children,  one  asleep  in  her  arms,  two  drag- 
ging heavy-eyed  behind,  and  a  small  mountain  of 


Manning's  Last  Inning  339 

homely  baggage,  held  the  train  for  an  instant. 
Latimer  turned  back  on  the  car  platform. 

"  What  did  you  say  was  the  matter  with  that 
automobile  of  yours,  Manning?" 

"  Not  a  blamed  thing,  old  man.    Be  good." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
SAFE  IN  PORT 

THREE  hours  more,  and  Mary  and  home,  thought 
Latimer,  lowering  himself  into  his  chair,  his  eyes 
aching  for  the  dark  and  his  mind  for  rest  and  for- 
getfulness  of  what  he  was -leaving  behind.  Mary: 
and  at  the  name  he  was  swept  with  a  gust  of  re- 
morse. What  had  his  wife  been  doing  these  three 
weeks  of  hot  weather  in  town  while  he  had  been 
feasting  his  soul?  Why  had  he  not  written?  She 
had  ordered  him  not  to,  but  it  was  an  injunction 
he  might  have  violated  without  undue  consequences. 
Why  had  he  agreed  so  readily  to  the  assumption 
that  it  was  from  her,  too,  with  the  rest  of  the  world 
in  town,  that  he  needed  escape?  Or  if  she  insisted 
on  his  going  away,  why  not  have  demanded  in  re- 
turn some  indulgence  for  herself  ?  She  might  have 
spent  these  weeks  on  a  holiday  of  her  own  among 
the  New  Hampshire  hills  of  which  she  could  never 
have  enough.  Absurd !  He  knew,  of  course,  why 
she  would  not  go  away.  She  was  on  guard  against 
the  chance  of  a  mishap  to  his  own  plans.  If  he 

340 


Safe  in  Port  341 

came  back  prematurely,  she  would  be  there  wait- 
ing for  him.  Or  she  was  waiting,  there  at  head- 
quarters, in  case  he  needed  her  and  called  for  her. 
And  he —  Shameful!  Shameful! 

And  then  he  felt  with  awe  that  the  sense  of  guilt 
was  not  crushing  him.  He  was  not  as  unhappy  as 
he  would  have  been  over  such  a  crime  three  weeks 
ago.  Good  Lord  (he  thought),  what  has  happened 
to  me?  Have  I  cured  myself  too  well?  Have  I 
cleansed  away  all  capacity  for  moral  obligation 
from  my  soul?  Am  I  getting  to  be  like  Dawson, 
or  Grimsby?  A  pagan,  a  faun,  a  hero  out  of 
Ibsen,  a  Frankenstein's  monster?  I  am  in  sin  (he 
wanted  to  groan,  but  he  was  too  sound,  too  much 
at  peace  for  even  a  passable  imitation). 

Ah,  well!  Mary  would  understand;  and  what 
she  didn't  she  would  pretend  to.  He  had  tele- 
graphed to  her  and  she  would  be  waiting  for  him 
on  the  railway  platform  whence  she  had  sent  him 
away  on  his  adventure,  like  a  child  perfectly 
equipped  for  holiday,  with  his  bags,  his  books,  his 
golf  clubs,  his — 

Great  heavens!  He  jumped  up,  glared  around 
him  and  overhead,  and  saw  only  his  solitary  knap- 
sack on  the  floor  beside  his  chair.  Where  was 
everything  else?  His  bags,  his  clubs,  his  litera- 


342        Professor  Latimer's  Progress 

ture?  Where?  Where?  At  Harriet's!  But 
how — 

"  I  am  on  the  wrong  train,"  he  gasped  in  panic. 
"  I  should  not  be  going  home  now.  I  promised 
Harriet  I  would  stop  over."  And  for  the  moment 
he  was  rent  between  the  wild  hope  that  it  wasn't 
true,  that  he  was  indeed  on  his  way  to  Harriet, 
and  the  impulse  to  clutch  at  the  bell  rope  and  bring 
the  train  to  a  stop,  to  explain — 

Absurd,  of  course.  He  sank  back  into  his  chair, 
resigned.  And  yet,  to  have  forgotten  so  completely 
after  promising  Harriet,  to  have  tossed  her  out  of 
his  life  as  soon  as  her  back  was  turned.  It  was 
to  her  he  should  have  telegraphed  that  he  was  com- 
ing. His  wife  he  was  to  have  wired  from  Wil- 
liamsport.  Would  Harriet  ever  forgive  him? 

"  She  will,"  said  that  new-born  pagan  conscience. 
"  And  what's  more,  she  will  send  your  luggage 
down  by  express  collect."  He  shuddered  at  the 
quick  equanimity  with  which  he  resigned  himself 
to  the  inevitable.  "  What  has  come  over  me  in 
these  three  weeks  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Or  rather  I  know 
what  has  happened,  but  how?  Where  did  it  be- 
gin? Let  me,  in  defence  of  my  moral  and  intel- 
lectual integrity,  try  to  think  it  out." 

For  the  next  half  hour  he  stared  out  of  the  win- 


Safe  in  Port  343 

dow  into  the  dark  and  thought  of  nothing.  Ulti- 
mately he  fell  into  a  doze. 

"Dr.  Latimer!" 

He  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  drove  the  sleep 
from  his  eyes  and  his  brain  by  a  mighty  effort. 

"  Gladys !  My  dear  Miss  Winthrop !  This  is 
altogether  delightful." 

She  offered  him  both  her  hands,  made  her  choice 
of  two  seats  in  the  long  row  of  vacant  chairs,  and 
registered  queenliness. 

"  Sit  near  me,  Dr.  Latimer.  We  finished  the  pic- 
ture day  before  yesterday.  One  gets  tired  of  the 
motor.  So  you  find  me  here." 

"And  that  scene?"  he  said. 

"Your  Alvarez  to  my  Juanita?  It  goes  of 
course,"  she  said  archly. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  cried  in  agony. 

Gladys  laughed. 

"  If  yi^  are  very  good,  and  sit  down  and  tell 
me  all  about  yourself,  I  may  use  my  influence  to 
have  it  suppressed." 

"  What  is  there  to  say,  my  dear  Miss  Winthrop  ? 
It  can  be  done  in  two  words.  I  am  coming  back 
to  town  enriched  with  a  vivifying  experience.  I 
have  lost  myself  to  find  myself,  if  I  may  use  the 
expression." 


344        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Indeed  you  may,  Dr.  Latimer." 

"  I  have  been  emancipated  from  an  exaggerated 
egocentrism.  I  have  been  reduced  to  my  true  pro- 
portions by  the  simple  process  of  being  thrown 
against  the  background  of  all  outdoors.  It  has 
been  a .  catharsis,  Miss  Winthrop,  a  veritable 
catharsis." 

"  It  is  just  too  fascinating,  Dr.  Latimer." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Latimer  was  making  fair 
progress  with  his  two  words  of  explanation  when 
the  train  drew  into  Middleburg.  It  halted  just 
long  enough  for  two  breathless  women  in  walking 
skirts  with  knapsacks  to  swing  aboard  and  into  our 
travelers'  car. 

"  Winifred,  look !  "  cried  Polly,  and  pointed. 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  remarked  Winifred,  and  marched 
down  upon  Latimer.  He  gave  them  a  hand  each, 
beamed  down  on  their  browned  and  tired  faces — 
Polly  had  a  smudge  under  her  left  eye — and  made 
them  acquainted  with  his  dear  friend  Miss  Win- 
throp. 

"  Dr.  Latimer  has  been  telling  me  such  delight- 
ful things  about  you,"  said  Gladys. 

"  I've  had  a  lot  of  your  chocolates,"  said  Wini- 
fred crisply,  and  both  Latimer  and  the  film  queen 
wondered  whether  Winifred  meant  to  be  friends. 


Safe  in  Port  345 

There  was  but  one  way  out  of  the  rather  sultry 
atmosphere. 

"  You  will  be  my  guests  in  the  dining-car?  "  said 
Latimer. 

"  I  want  five  minutes  to  wash  up,"  declared 
Winifred.  "  We  ran  the  last  mile  and  a  half." 

"And  I  kept  telling  her  all  the  while  there  was 
plenty  of  time,"  said  the  pitiful  Polly. 

When  half  way  down  the  platform  he  picked  out 
his  wife's  face  in  the  front  rank  of  the  waiting 
crowd,  a  place  to  which  her  diminutive  stature 
entitled  her  by  the  law  of  common  kindliness.  He 
waved  his  hat,  and  her  slightly  myopic  stare  gave 
way  to  a  soft  glow  of  recognition  which  made  him 
feel  that  perhaps  he  had  not  sinned  against  her  as 
greatly  as  he  imagined.  He  bent  down  to  kiss  her, 
and  so  remained,  that  she  might  scan  his  face  at 
close  range  and  give  her  verdict. 

"  You  look  very  well,  Henry.     I  am  thankful." 

"And  you?"  He  tried  to  find  out  for  himself, 
but  he  had  known  her  these  thirty-five  years  and 
never  yet  been  certain  when  she  was  well  and  when 
not. 

"  I  have  been  very  comfortable,"  she  said  and 
took  his  arm. 


346        Professor  Larimer's  Progress 

"  Next  week,  Mary,  we  go  off  to  New  Hamp- 
shire." 

"That  will  be  delightful.  Where  are  your 
things?" 

"Forgot  them;  at  Harriet's."  Then  he  became 
aware  of  his  traveling  companions.  "  My  dear, 
may  I  introduce  my  friends?  Miss  Winthrop, 
Miss?—" 

"  Wilson,"  said  Winifred. 

"Miss?—" 

"  Griggs,"  said  Polly. 

Mrs.  Latimer  bowed  and  walked  on.  Latimer, 
saluting  the  three  young  women,  fell  into  step. 

"It  is  odd  that  you  should  have  forgotten  your 
bags,"  said  Mrs.  Latimer. 

"  I  have  left  other  things  behind  me,  my  dear." 

"Yes?" 

"  A  good  part  of  my  restless  self." 

"  I  am  very  happy,"  she  said. 

The  flare  of  the  city  across  the  river  was  raw 
and  menacing  to  his  unaccustomed  eyes.  He  was 
seized  with  a  great  yearning  for  the  peace  of  the 
green  mountain  land  which  was  now  sleeping 
under  the  stars;  though  Manning  and  Margaret 
might  still  be  sitting  up,  reading,  talking  of  him 
perhaps.  He  hoped,  sincerely,  they  were  not  miss- 


Safe  in  Port  347 

ing  him.  And  in  the  background,  dim  in  the 
shadows,  were  Westville,  the  sick  woman,  Fair- 
view,  the  hostess  of  the  roadside  booth — 

"And  Harriet?"  said  Mrs.  Latimer. 

He  told  her,  with  satisfactory  detail;  and  after 
that  he  spoke  of  his  own  adventure,  though  only 
in  outline,  all  the  way  across  the  river,  and  across 
town  in  the  taxi,  and  up  Broadway,  as  unlovely 
as  ever  with  its  wooden  pavements  and  contractor's 
sheds  in  the  effulgence  of  the  whiskey  signs.  But 
after  a  little  while  Broadway  was  not  so  hideous 
after  all.  He  caught  its  pulse.  He  began  to 
identify  the  city,  to  place  himself  in  it,  as  they 
sped  on  in  silence. 

"  That  third  one — "  said  Mrs.  Latimer. 

He  stared  down  at  her.  "  Oh,  Polly  you  mean. 
Yes?" 

"  She  has  a  kind  face." 


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